


On Impossibility

by theotherella



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bullying, Coming of Age, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Angst, Flawed Protagonist, Highschool AU, Logic | Logan Sanders Angst, M/M, Patton at acting college, Popular Logan, School Play, Theatre nerd Roman, Virgil just wants to listen to music and do art, did I mention the angst?, so much Logan angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-05-24 01:37:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14945183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theotherella/pseuds/theotherella
Summary: Theatre nerd Roman takes on popular student body president Logan after drama funding is cut by staging an ambitious play. The only problem is there are just six cast and crew members and no funding. All this while his brother Patton is away at college, Virgil seems destined to remain only as his former English partner and nobody but his friends appreciate (or even tolerate) his genius and unique personality the way he thinks they should.If it's 3AM and you need a quick read with awkward Prinxiety, not-at-all-venting Logan angst and Patton who may or may not be a trickster god then this is for you.Has been descibed as 'worth reading' by Tumblr user @jamiebluewind





	1. The rise of Logan and fall of Roman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Panic attack mention, bullying, some swearing

Logan felt as though his Library of Alexandria had been burnt. From the second semester of his freshman year he had kept a journal to record his social faux pas and examine the structure of the student body he belonged to. What had started as a genuine attempt to understand the cliques, feuds and social etiquette of the school had evolved into an arch record in the style of a nature documentary, where funny poems about his classmates jostled with notes on modern slang. He knew who to avoid (almost everyone), when a general invite for debate team practice at someone’s house extended to him (never) and when the bleachers would be empty of smokers at lunch, so that he could read in peace. 

Now it was the beginning of his junior year and his parents had uprooted him to a new school where his notes would be useless and as a new kid he would be a blip on the social radar. So here he was, polo shirt ironed, tie straight and his old favourite The Hound of the Baskervilles for company. The school was much older than his previous one, which had looked like it had aspired to be an office block. There were actual, big trees on campus and when he went into the building the floor was clean and the lockers were a jaunty red. Eyes focused on the floor, he walked with his shoulder just over an inch from the lockers, taking up as little of the corridor as possible. He put his head up as he heard a commotion at the end of the hallway. Hesitating, he looked at his timetable, and then back at the crowd by the stairwell. He pulled out his new black notebook and a pen and went to investigate.

A tall boy in a $100 hoody was dangling an emo over a green recycling bin.  
‘Do you like this, freak? If you think recycling bins are so fucking sexy why don’t you just make out with one? Isn’t that what you’ve been petitioning for?’  
‘Put him down, Chad.’ said a girl in the crowd, her voice indulgent as though he was some adorable but mischievous toddler.

The boy was dressed all in black and his purple hair hung down, masking a face bright red behind white foundation. His eyes were squeezed tight and he was counting under his breath – based on how his chest was moving he was probably staving off a panic attack.

Logan knew that at this school it was uncool to be an emo. He knew they didn’t like people who petitioned for the environment. He knew that at least one bully would get physical and people didn’t seem to mind. He acted based on knowledge and caution, always. 

As if in a dream, Logan pushed through the crowd and into the empty space where the action was unfolding. He tapped the bully – Chad - on the shoulder. Swiftly, Logan kicked the recycling bin out of the way as Chad dropped the emo, who tried to scramble into the crowd, but was pushed back. A bespectacled boy dressed like a middle-aged maths professor stared up at a football player with shoulders about as broad as he was tall. 

When the USSR tried to keep control of nations such as Hungary and Czechoslovakia whenever it used force it was a sign of weakness because it proved the people didn’t support Soviet rule, and that Soviet control was weak. If Logan tried to fight this boy then the winner would be determined on physical strength, but if he could shift the definition of victory then he could win. 

‘Are you aware that according to a July 19, 2017 issue of the National Geographic the US is estimated to recycle only 9% of the plastic it uses?’  
‘Of course I didn’t know that, nerd.’  
‘Then why are you debating with this…man of science,’ he gestured to the emo, who was staring at him in much the same way the rational part of his brain was, ‘without necessary information such as that?’  
‘Listen to this guy.’ The boy looked round at the crowd, trying to regain their support. But Logan was new and unexpected, and if they were watching to see if he would get punched, well, that was all he needed. For the first time in his life, feigning social stupidity was his best defence.  
‘Sir, you have not answered my question – may I yeet another one at you?’ There was a laugh at that – good. ‘The Great Pacific Garbage Patch – ‘

A fist connected to Logan’s cheek, and his glasses skittered off his face. Blinking, he smiled in the general direction of where the emo was. ‘Would you mind passing my glasses to me, my monochromatic friend?’ The plastic frames were placed quickly into his hand. 

Logan adjusted his glasses. The crowd watched. Chad frowned. ‘As I was saying, the Great Pacific Garbage Patch…’

The bully gave a roar of frustration. ‘DON’T YOU EVER SHUT UP? I JUST PUNCHED YOU AND YOU KEPT ON TALKING.’ The crowd shifted a bit, looking at each other. 

‘If you are punching me that clearly shows you do not know how to outmanoeuvre me verbally or back your frankly nonsensical-‘

Logan was knocked to the ground again, and the bully shoved his way into the crowd, making his way to his first lesson. 

Virgil got up, pulling his hoodie close about him and smoothing down his fringe. Why did this always happen to him? Chad even bought a recycling bin, for God’s sake.

He glanced down at the idiot who’d stood up for him, then did a double take. The boy was lying on his back, smiling. ‘Uhhh – are you concussed or something?’  
‘I am celebrating.’ The nerd replied in a monotone.  
Virgil wasn’t going to get tangled up with this guy. He walked deliberately down the now empty hall – then turned. ‘Why the hell are you celebrating becoming a punching bag on your first day?’  
Logan stood up and brushed himself off, then did something which scared him more than taking on a 6ft anti-environmentalist. He walked beside the boy on their way to maths and said: ‘My name is Logan. Have you studied Soviet control of Eastern Europe?’  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------

‘And so, join me to yeet Simmons High to a greener future.’ Logan finished, staring into a Nightmare before Christmas poster as though looking over a packed assembly hall.  
‘That was good dude. You could – you could actually win this.’ Virgil was sprawled over his black bedcover, fiddling with a frayed edge rather than looking Logan in the eye. It meant a lot to hear him say that. The two had begun a friendship based on shared cynicism, sarcasm and a few books and TV shows in common, but neither were particularly fond of ‘emotional displays’/’feelings crap’ so this praise made Logan feel almost ridiculously happy. 

And, Logan realised, it was true.

Just as Logan’s five minutes of fame was ending, the Student Body President elections had been announced, and he had decided to run. Virgil was livid: ‘You’re a junior – juniors don’t win. You want the school to introduce recycling bins – remember what happened when I petitioned for that? You’re a nobody loser who won’t win.’ Virgil had lividly made posters with Logan, lividly given out badges at the door and lividly helped him make his speech intelligible if not exactly fascinating to the average student. Logan who had never had a real friend before had ended up with – in his opinion – the best friend in the world.

At first, he had been a joke – he didn’t even have a vice because that was one step too far for his outsider friend and he was so new he still got lost in the Art and Drama Department. But people liked his underdog status, passionate campaigning and nonconformity. It was one week to go, and he was neck and neck with a peppy girl called Elise, also a junior. Juniors were only supposed to be allowed to run to give them practice and exposure for the next year – nothing like this race had been seen since ’76, as the two were repeatedly told by impressed teachers and disgruntled seniors.

Logan was introverted; Elise was outgoing. He had the support of the nerds and geeks; the band kids and cheerleaders were her people. He was clever and organised; she had a passion for communication and helping others.

When he won, he made her vice president.

\--------------------------------------

Now it was Logan’s senior year and second term as Student Body President and he was – popular? He still sat with only Virgil at lunch, but people would regularly swoop in to Student Council to offer ideas to change the school or give him neatly written flashcards of new slang in the hallways. His eccentric way of speaking and esoteric interests were found hilarious by many students and, as he confided to Virgil once, he felt he’d become ‘something of a school meme’. 

His fondest memory (narrowly beating the sight of Virgil’s face when Chad was expelled for possession of steroids on school grounds) had to be when the football team carried him round the field on their shoulders after he prevented their funding from being cut. The elevated view of the field, their cheers, the smell of cut grass and the taste of victory had made it one of the best moments in his life. It had been difficult to convince the school to cut the drama programmes, especially when they had once been so illustrious, but it was the only way to save the football team. While the members had been upset, at the end of the day they were statistically unlikely to be benefitted in college applications by their unbroken record of losing every improv competition they entered and having all but one boy forget their lines in the school play every year. Logan didn’t like to think about Roman too much.

Roman thought about Logan a lot. 

He thought about him more than Broadway, more than the beautiful voice of Lin-Manuel Miranda, more than the undisputable gayness of Mercutio. Because Roman thought about Patton and his future a lot and both were sullied with the clipped tones of the Student President irreversibly ruining them for him.  
‘My condolences…. economically viable….’ The words of the boy swam in and out of focus as Roman stood there, ridiculous in a prince’s doublet and blue jeans, sword still in hand.  
‘Cut? Why cut? When cut?’ His voice sounded high and desperate and his hands started to shake.  
Logan’s lips twitched a little despite himself. ‘Yes. Cut. Budget and now.’  
If you are holding a wooden sword, and you have just been told that your life is ruined, and the source of that ruin is right in front of you, gloating, there is only one course of action to take.  
Roman was suspended. He didn’t care.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

Patton was the best actor ever. Roman didn’t care who the competition was. He was so empathetic he could absorb the emotions of a person in an instance, and he was imbued with some God-given gift that he could, with the simplest change in body language, reflect the same nuances of emotion on the stage. He could be comic when he wanted to be, but it was his tragic roles which transfixed the audience. Everyone had said that he would go far, and he had. His industrious nature and genuine passion, not to mention his talent, had guaranteed him a scholarship at one of the most prestigious acting colleges in the country. Roman too loved to act, but for him none of this subtle, everyday drama his brother played so well. No! He was a knight, an astronaut, a pirate, a rock star, a – ‘Knight-astronaut-pirate-rock star’ a young Roman had shouted up at his big brother, cheeks flushed from running around the garden in dress-up. ‘That sounds like a Roman.’ Patton had smiled.

In his freshman year, Roman had felt dwarfed in the high-school auditorium his brother had performed in just the year before, but now, just as Patton said it would, it felt like a second home. He was now a ‘director-writer-actor-set designer’ – that was, a Roman. Neither brother could stand to do things half way. Patton burnt with a white light, always drawn to some artistry just beyond reach, driven inwards to understand and express human emotion. But Roman had a firecracker heart, flying from one high to the next, be it figuring out delivery of a line, the joy of singing on stage in his powerful voice or the intoxication of applause. Roman was going to be the twin star of Patton, succeeding in musicals as his brother did in his ‘serious’ plays. 

But it was Roman’s senior year and he had no improv practice, no play rehearsal, nothing.

He could not move schools because there was only one in his town and his parents had jobs there. He could not confront the athletes because they thought he was a loser. He could never convince the student body something as ‘nerdy’ as theatre was worth saving. He could not live up to Patton. 

He could, however, hate Logan with a seething passion and make up silly nicknames for the emo kid, once even more unpopular than Roman, whose rare sarcastic comments were now repeated at various lunch tables. He could also work his group to death in an empty auditorium trying to put together a play with no set, lights, sound or teachers involved because, even though he only had five members left willing to put up with his tyranny, Roman had a love of the dramatic and – the show must go on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Logan or Roman so far? I will make a graph charting this over the course of the story, so your answers are greatly appreciated. Any other comments, especially about where I could improve, are welcomed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on @2pointomg’s idea (on Tumblr)  
> impossible  
> ɪmˈpɒsɪb(ə)l  
> adjective  
> • not able to occur, exist, or be done.  
> Eg. It is impossible to fund both the sports and drama programmes with the school’s limited budget.  
> • very difficult to deal with.  
> Eg. The situation which Logan Sanders, Student Body President, is in after he convinced the school board to cut the unsuccessful drama programmes is impossible.  
> • (of a person) very unreasonable.  
> Eg. Roman Prince.  
> To Roman, nothing is impossible. Not following his older brother Patton to acting college, not being a loser taking on the school’s popular Student Body President and definitely not writing and performing an epic school play with no money and six cast and crew members.

‘Black hoodie designer?’  
‘I wish.’  
‘Engineer.’  
‘Eh.’  
‘Illustrator.’  
‘Not good enough.’  
‘Falsehood.’ Logan sighed. ‘Come on, Virgil, there must be something you want to do. Mrs Damon said that that illumination project you did in art was good enough to be in a book.’  
‘Mrs Damon said her favourite member of My Chemical Romance was Pete Wentz.’  
Virgil shoved his hands deeper in his pockets as his friend rounded on him. ‘That’s irrelevant! Look, we need to get to assembly now, but we’ll talk about this later.’  
‘Jeez, you sound like my mom.’  
‘Falsehood.’ grinned Logan, ‘the average male speaks at 85 – 180 Hz, where a female speaks at 165-225 Hz.’  
Virgil bumped his friend’s shoulder companionably as he walked towards the podium. Smirking, he went backstage rather than sitting with the rest of the student body, positioning himself in the wings so he had a good view of Logan.  
‘Greetings, fellow students. Today we talk about bullying based on sexuality and gender orientation,’ Logan read in a monotone – then he slammed a hand on the podium and looked out onto the audience like an action hero contemplating his ragtag army, ‘and how we kill it.’  
There was a whoop from someone at the back. Logan smiled and stood shoulders back with arms straight and hands on the podium. At first, he had delivered assemblies glued to his notes, but Joan (the debate team captain) had taught him how to look out over an audience as if making eye contact with each member and Virgil had helped to make his discursive speeches a little more succinct and a lot simpler to understand. Generally, people listened, even if Roman had recently taken to sprawling in the front sleeping (or pretending to sleep) to signal his disinterest in anything Logan had to say.  
As the speech wrapped up Logan could hear a small commotion behind him. Elise had agreed to bring in a T-shirt gun she used at her band’s concerts, and they had been working on printing rainbow T-shirts together for the past week. Was it a bit overkill? Undoubtably, but this most recent project of his was incredibly important to him. While he hoped having an out and proud Student President would help shift attitudes in school, this was the first time he’d put together a concrete plan for improving the awareness about and acceptance of LGBT+ students. People loved free stuff, and rainbow T-shirts in the hallways were definitely a good start to the project.  
As he finished with his big flourish ‘Have a gay day, everyone!’ (not his best), he gestured to the wings dramatically. And out came – Virgil?  
The emo was bright red and had pulled up his hood for comfort. Muttering under his breath, he walked forward quickly and shot a T-shirt without looking. It hit the floor and there was a burble of laughter. He swore beneath his breath, cursing the day he’d subjected himself to a speech on Soviet control and why getting punched in the face showed how weak your opponent was. Two years later, and here they were. Sweaty fingers fumbling at the smooth plastic trigger, he repositioned the gun and tried again. The T-shirt landed in the audience this time – although it hit Roman Prince squarely in the face. He gave a high-pitched shriek as he jerked awake. Spluttering apoplectically, he grabbed at the cloth and slowly dropped it to the ground with a noise of distain. He went red as the audience roared.  
Talk about adding insult to injury!  
‘You absolute buffoon! Learn to use a T-shirt gun, Count Woelaf! Panic at the everywhere! You Incredible Sulk!’  
Logan counted to ten as Virgil fled the laughter of the audience. Then he counted to ten again as Roman sat down, glaring at him defiantly. Then he gave up – the guy had almost broken his nose, after all.  
‘A prince without a castle,  
a man without a home,  
Roman Prince is theatre-less  
And left all on his own.  
Rebecca is in debate team now,  
Tristan prefers gym,  
Gary is in band -  
But - I wouldn’t pity him.  
Roman Prince is lonely,  
But that’s all alright  
Because he teased my best friend  
So, he makes an awful knight.’  
Roman tried to get up and leave in a dignified manner, but he was so focused on keeping his head held high that he didn’t notice the rainbow T-shirt on the floor. Tripping over, he fled out of the auditorium doors.  
As the student president, he should really try to be the bigger person. Logan leaned over the podium conversationally ‘Stage left is the other way, Roman.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Logan or Roman? I will make a graph charting this over the course of the story, so I would appreciate your answers. Any other comments, particularly on where I could improve, are appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

Logan hurried backstage after the ordeal was over, needing his best friend. He felt awful – Roman had been out of line but it really was unfair to begin a battle of wits with an unarmed opponent. Unarmed was a little harsh, perhaps the actor’s wits could be compared to that blunt wooden sword of his…   
Stopping that train of thought, he went over to Virgil, who was sitting in a corner with large purple headphones jammed on. He was the Student President and had acted like a bully, that was the long and short of it, and Roman deserved an apology.   
Virgil stood up when he saw Logan and knocked the headphones off his head.  
Logan paused, ‘Are you good, Virgil?’  
‘What the hell, man.’  
Logan frowned, ‘I assure you, I was not involved in giving you the T-shirt gun. I was wondering what happened actually –’  
‘I was talking about what you did to Roman.’  
‘I was going to apologise, I did feel bad – ‘  
Virgil slammed his hands on his head, ‘You felt bad? You felt bad, huh?’ his voice went dangerously calm. ‘You acted like a fucking dick. No! No, don’t even try to deny it. I don’t want to hear your shitty debate team response. I told you, I told you that it wasn’t your decision to cut drama, that every other Student President restrained their decision-making to putting salad bars in the cafeteria and fund-raising for new laptops. But you didn’t listen. You’re always running ideas by me, and plans, and speeches, and the one time I said no to one of your student body enrichment schemes you didn’t even listen. I told you I knew the guy, that it would kill him. I told you that before I met you he was always my group project partner in English because his friends weren’t in that class, and I didn’t have any friends at all. I told you – you didn’t listen!’  
Logan broke in, scared by the anger in his friend’s voice. ‘Look, I don’t know what that has got to do with this situation. It’s pure coincidence that it was Roman you hit, and if any other person in the school had spoken like that to you I would have done the same thing. Besides - you backed my decision when I explained the numbers to you. It was the –’  
‘Logical decision?’ Virgil laughed humourlessly. ‘I didn’t back your position, I backed you. I trusted you. You’re my friend. We did all these great things together, taking on the man. You made people listen when I wanted to save energy in the school. We put together that anti-bullying project with Elise, made the school stop using sex ed for scaremongering, even this,’ he gestured at the rainbow flag still hung proudly on the podium, ‘would have been impossible before you came.’  
Logan scanned Virgil’s face for clues desperately when he paused, trying to work out what exactly his friend was saying.  
‘The point is,’ Virgil sighed, ‘now that’s changed. You stopped Roman from doing what he loved, and then made him a laughing stock from a position of power. Logan – you’re the man.’  
Virgil quickly swiped at his eye makeup, smudging it. He took a deep breath before looking Logan in the eyes. ‘I don’t want to be your friend anymore. Me – I fight the man.’  
Logan stood in silence as his only friend walked away.   
He did what had needed to be done.  
Virgil was just prejudiced against the athletes Logan had helped because – because what, Logan? Because they used to laugh at him in PE? Because half of them thought Chad was hilarious in the recycling bin incident?   
He had worked tirelessly to improve the school for two years, and the one time he was saddled with a difficult decision his friend was blinded with – empathy?  
Logan didn’t need Virgil. He had his debate team, and the people he worked with in Student Council, and everyone in the school thought he was great. Virgil didn’t understand the way that Roman didn’t understand – he didn’t understand that utilitarianism and democracy were the policies Logan had to follow, not whimsy and pandering to the individual. It had been his place to make the decision, because he had a school to run and did not shirk his duty.   
Logan had lost his best friend, and he didn’t run after him and beg for forgiveness, or write passive-aggressive messages on social media, or hide in a bathroom crying. Instead, he aced his trig exam, learnt a new debate technique and finished two essays in the library at lunch.  
4:00pm. Logan put on his backpack aggressively normally and kept his eyes on the linoleum as he walked through the hallways. Every time the tan squares began to blur together he would pinch the skin between his thumb and forefinger and they would come back into focus. He stopped outside the auditorium door, hearing the booming voice of Roman mid-soliloquy. He’d prepared a short but sincere apology after he finished his exam early. I don’t want to do this. He had to do this. Go home. He was the Student President. I want to go home. He placed a hand on the doorknob, wrapping his fingers securely around the metal. Fuck this. Fuck all of this. I want to go home. I want to go home. The back doors of the school swung open.   
Logan struggled home as though through wet concrete, his view a modern art piece of suburbia underwater. His breaths scraped like sandpaper through his mouth as he picked up speed and the air in his nose felt acidic. As he collapsed in the door he tugged off his tie (a gift from Virgil) and ripped open his collar (are you hiding vampire bite marks there?). He ran his hands through the hallway carpet, trying to calm his breath (4,7,8, Virgil, 4,7,8, breathe with me). Head in hands, he screamed silently, shaking. No-one was home so he screamed aloud. ‘AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!’ A shaky breath. ‘AAAAAAAHHHHHH!’ He pounded up the stairs. Pulling out his phone, he scanned the texts they had exchanged the previous night, all full of nothing: Maths homework, the assembly, Virgil’s Geography presentation, a flat earth meme, nothing to preclude the fight. How long? How long had his best friend been losing his trust in him?   
The boy flopped onto his bed, knocking over a funfair black-and-purple bear. Recoiling as though it were a spider, he couldn’t look the stupid toy in the face as he hid it in his wardrobe behind a stack of identical black polo shirts.


	4. Chapter 4

It was the best thing Roman had ever written. As his friends pointed out, he said that every time he wrote a new play (or ballad or short story) but that was just a testament to how quickly he improved, and how well he took constructive criticism aboard –  
‘No, no, no! No kiss? How can there be no kiss at the end?’  
Kyle looked down at his friend with a mixture of fondness and exasperation, ‘I’m not kissing you.’  
‘It’s a _teeny peck_ of a kiss.’  
Talyn shuffled through their script, ‘It says here, ‘Rosso swoops Ombretto into a passionate kiss…. sensuous lips…. forbidden gay love…. could have confetti….at least 10 second of lip contact.’’ They looked up at Roman, raising their multi-coloured eyebrows.  
Roman, lying on his stomach on the stage, held a hand out dramatically ‘Alright, alright. We’ll discuss the kiss when we get to it.’ He sat up, ‘So… do you guys like it?’  
Valerie smiled at him, ‘I do.’  
Terrence looked up. ‘Roman – it’s the best thing you’ve ever written.’  
Roman smiled. All the stress of coming up with a good idea, all the late nights he’d put into that script, all the times he’d woken up his parents with reading through soliloquies, was worth this moment. Six high school kids sat in a circle on a stage in a dark auditorium, still cluttered with instruments and with the assembly podium in centre stage and realised they could make something amazing. Yes, there weren’t many of them, but Roman wouldn’t have traded his friends for the most star-studded of all Broadway casts. The love he had for them and his knowledge of their individual strengths shone through his play. It was an intense gothic-style story, and in his eyes, it was perfect.  
Roman was Rosso, a knight fallen from grace due to his anger and arrogance who must prove his worth by going on a quest into a cursed forest.  
Kyle would be Ombretto, who played the dual role of villain and love interest – Roman had originally written a different part for him, Rosso’s companion Giallo, who was the source of hope and goodness in the trials Rosso would face, but Giallo had to be written out because there was no way one person could play both characters and Ombretto had to stay.  
Terrence was a dancing malevolent fairy, Valerie was the evil queen of the forest and Dahlia would be Rosso’s guide through the woods, Margherita.  
Of course, Talyn was in charge of hair, make-up, costume and props – their talents would be especially important as they had no-one to do set, so their work would have to evoke the gothic world much more than the group’s joint effort at some sort of background.  
Elise had agreed to do sound and lights nearer the time.  
‘We’ll show them,’ said Dahlia firmly, ‘we’ll show them what we can do – and how important drama and the arts are.’  
Was it cheesy? When we are serious and heartfelt we can seem ridiculous, but in that moment it was not cheesy to say ‘We’ll show them’. In that moment, the six of them saw for the first time how this idea of theirs that they’d been working on for the past month could be realised. The easy companionship, the sense of purpose, the excitement for the future and the commitment to the project, no matter how hard it would be were cheesy, perhaps, but they swelled to fill the dim auditorium with possibility. The podium was some distant tower, the ropes backstage tangled vines and the seating was filled with expectant shadows.  
Jarringly, the doors at the back of the auditorium swung open, and the intruders flicked the harsh white lights on, revealing the stage again as set up for mundane assemblies and not fantastical plays. ‘Alright Logan, I want you opening, I know you like responding but I’m trusting you to write an airtight opening speech, I’m going to close since I have the most experience, the middle we’ll sort out….’ Joan paused, looking at the blinking theatre kids on the stage. ‘Um, we booked the auditorium, so could you please leave.’  
Roman stood up, indignation radiating from him. ‘This theatre has been used by the Drama Society from 4 ‘til 6 every Thursday for the past ten years- ‘  
‘I’m sorry. First off, it’s an auditorium, not a theatre, secondly….’  
Logan was doing his best to hide behind Joan and the others, hoping that Roman wouldn’t notice him. He still hadn’t apologised for the assembly incident, the past few days he had just been trying to keep himself together after his fight with Virgil. The extra debate practices before their competition in New York had been a godsend, and now Roman had to ruin them.  
The others had already slipped their scripts into rucksacks and had collected any jackets lying on the stage. ‘Roman.’ Valerie picked up her friend’s backpack.  
‘No.’ Roman replied to Valerie apologetically, then turned back to Joan speaking firmly, ‘No. This is our place.’  
As the theatre kids stood in the glare of the light on stage, bags hung off single shoulders and jackets draped over arms they looked – helpless, somehow. And Roman was still standing there, clutching his script to his chest and staring Joan right in the eyes. Suddenly, Logan could see himself as he had been at his old school, sitting in the back of the seating. ‘Disputandum dominatur displays logic and higher social status to remove the theatrum parvus from their natural habitat. It is unlikely the theatrum parvus will find a secure habitat again due to government programmes aiming to cause them to go extinct.’ He told his head to shut up.  
In his notebook, Logan always rooted for the underdog.  
He stepped forward, waiting for Joan to finish speaking. Once they had, he cut in before Roman could.  
‘While the debate team must use the auditorium now, our competition is in just three weeks. If you would consent to using our classroom for that period, you could book the auditorium at other times, and after that you could go back to normal. Besides, we practice in E4, which is very spacious so should be suitable for any small-scale exercises in make-believe you wish to engage in.’  
‘Small scale? Small scale?!’ Roman roared, then he placed his hands on his hips – how someone could be that unconscious about the absurdity of their body language Logan would never know – and projected to the back of the room, ‘No! We are putting on a play. It will be the greatest play this school has ever seen, and furthermore it will get us back our funding! We will take your offer and for your generosity will give the debate club seats in the front row.’  
Logan couldn’t tell whether that was sarcastic or a show of genuine gratitude.  
Joan sighed, ‘Alright, it’s ten past and clearly we all have things to do. Let’s get started with compiling our research.’  
As the Roman and his entourage left the auditorium, Logan didn’t hear a single word of what his captain was saying.  
In the back of the room his former self was laughing. ‘Theatrum parvus member beats opponent twice its size with bravado and conviction.’

\----------------------------------------

‘I don’t understand why I have to wear that!’  
‘Because it’s your costume that’s why!’  
‘Yeah - Talyn is the costume designer, they have final say!’  
‘Well, I’m the actor, so shouldn’t I have final say over my lines?!’  
‘So why did we workshop this play for so long if you don’t have any say over your lines!’  
‘We workshopped for too long, we won’t get it ready in time!’  
‘Maybe we would get it done sooner if you guys would co-operate a bit more!’  
‘Maybe it would be a bit better if you didn’t bulldoze us every time we disagreed with you!’  
‘Look, let’s just take a break for ten minutes and come back to it.’  
‘Thanks Valerie,’ Roman sighed and put his head in his hands, ‘Ten minutes everyone.’  
He knew that it was late and they needed to finish blocking the first act before the school closed or they would be a full week behind their schedule, but he would start ripping down the posters in that stupid English classroom if he had to stay in it for one more minute. Everything which made his play magical seemed childish in that room: the Google translate Italian names, Terrence’s dance which the space was too small for, even Valerie’s evil incantation.  
Walking quickly down the hallways and enjoying the quiet, Roman ran over his lines in his head - why had he used ‘alas’ three times in as many sentences? ‘Princey’, ‘Disney’, ‘Princess’ or sometimes just ‘freak’ were the names the students knew him by and having a class of people shout ‘alas’ at him every time he spoke wasn’t something he wanted to encourage. Putting his whole being into every part he played always made it difficult for him when people teased him for his acting but performing in a play he had written was like offering his soul to the school on a platter. He knew everything inside him was beautiful and worthwhile – he was a shining star, the best guy in the school! – but it was hard to hold onto that when his peers found it ridiculous time and time again. And Logan Sander’s anti-bullying campaign counted itself as a success if nobody was getting beaten up in the hallways. Roman couldn’t help but resent Patton sometimes for the respect people in his year had had for him and his talent. He could never be the year’s shoulder to cry on or literal sunshine like Patton had been, but he would settle for nods in hallways and having the ball passed to him in PE - for genuine applause after his play. He could never settle for anonymity: it was something Roman found shameful, but he would rather be the butt of jokes or eyerolls than left in peace. This way, everyone knew his name. They would remember him when he succeeded in life!  
He checked his watch as he wandered into Art – five minutes of freedom left. He stopped his journey and leaned on a table covered in splatters of purple paint. It all came down to the fact that no-one outside the cast and Talyn would feel the sense of mystery and charm this play held for them or appreciate the richness of the world or the drama of the story the way that they did.  
Looking up, suddenly he was transported back into his enchanted forest.  
Paintings in the style of illuminations had been blue-tacked to the peeling paint of the art room, and they were the most beautiful things that Roman had ever seen. Thorns embraced collapsing stone towers and glowing eyes peered out of bottomless wishing wells. A weeping knight cradled a dragon’s head as it lay with a lance in its side and a lady all in white wandered through a midnight forest lit by blood-red stars. The pictures glowed with light – he leaned forward, drinking in each careful brushstroke and inked line. They were perfect. Roman knew he had to get this person to join his play. He didn’t care if the artist was Logan Sanders himself because he was filled with the illogical but definite thought that as soon as he could get someone like that onto his team his play would begin to feel dark and eldritch again. He took a moment before he looked at that Comic Sans name tag, scared to have this hope taken from him. ‘Virgil Lee’. Huh.  
Roman had mixed feelings on that. He had always enjoyed working with him, even if Virgil never seemed to want to move into a friendship beyond English projects and pre-lesson conversations. He had really tried to befriend him: he’d set up a speaker in his bedroom and sung ‘You’ve got a friend in me’ with a cowboy hat on to Virgil when he was round to analyse Moby Dick. Would someone time-travel to freshman Roman and burn his Disney karaoke CD? Or at least tell him that when Virgil stopped the backing music halfway through it wasn’t him that was being weird (Roman still used the CD). The angsty nature of the pictures definitely fit with the emo’s aesthetic and Roman knew that he had an appreciation for Angela Carter and Mary Shelley. The thing was that when Roman said he would even have taken Logan Sanders he did not expect his best friend to be the artist. Still, he had apologised to Virgil after the assembly (he was somewhat offended at the response his beautifully worded speech had got – the boy had been distracted and seemed as though he wanted nothing more than to be left alone) and at least it wasn’t some random freshman or something.  
Pulling out his phone, he saw that he only had a minute to get back to the classroom. He needed Virgil as soon as possible, so before he could think too much he called him. The hall was silent except from the slapping of Roman’s shoes and the blaring of the dialling tone in his ear.  
‘Hello?’  
‘Ah, yes, Virgil, are you free to talk?’  
‘You could just text me like a normal person.’  
‘Is that the sound of a Disney film I hear?’  
Virgil was indeed watching Disney. He had set himself up on his sofa with the Nightmare before Christmas, a tub of Oreo ice cream and a pile of blankets, trying not to think about Logan or Roman or anything much at all.  
‘Nightmare before Christmas.’  
‘Classic!’  
‘What do you want?’  
‘Well, friendo, I was in Art and I couldn’t help but notice your beautiful paintings!’  
‘Um, OK. They’re not- ‘  
‘I do not have time to deal with self-deprecation! I am calling because I need you to join my play. To do set design and help Talyn with the props. Please.’  
‘Dude, I appreciate the offer, but I’m not qualified to- ‘  
‘You were in set last year!’  
‘I didn’t design the set though!’  
Roman stopped outside the classroom door. He leaned on the wall and spoke more softly, ‘Virgil, it’s a gothic play. It needs you. _I_ need you. Come on! It’ll be fun.’  
The sound of a put-upon sigh was music to Roman’s ears. ‘Fine. When do you want me to come in?’  
‘Now?’  
‘I have ice cream and am watching a Tim Burton film, why would I leave that to go to school?’  
‘Tomorrow?’  
‘Sure thing, Princey.’  
‘Goodnight, Charlie Frown.’  
‘Hey!’  
‘I’m sorry for calling you Charlie Frown.’  
‘I’m sorry you called me too.’  
‘Enjoy the movie.’  
‘See you tomorrow.’

\--------------------------------

Virgil shifted the sketchbook under his arm as he stood outside E4, peering into the frosted glass panel in the blue door. He pulled out his phone to reread the text: 'E4 4:00’ which Roman had sent the night before. Tugging at the bottom of his sleeve, he barely had time to register a blurry shape rapidly filling up the window before the door swung open.  
'Virgil, set designer extraordinaire!’ Roman went in for a hug, which Virgil sidestepped. The actor looked down for a moment, then settled for ushering Virgil into their old English classroom as though it were the Old Vic itself.  
‘Well, come on in.’  
'You've met Talyn, right?’ Talyn looked up from their fabric samples and waved.  
'Yeah, sure.’  
If by met Roman meant 'stared longingly at the awesome dyed hair of' then Virgil had certainly met Talyn.  
‘So, basically a disgraced knight called Rosso goes through a cursed forest with a guide Margherita, then faces an evil queen, malevolent spirit and finally a witch guy under the queen's power, who he gets together with at the end.’ Roman explained quickly.  
Virgil quirked an eyebrow. ‘That’s really weird, you know.’  
Roman threw an arm round Virgil, who started a bit at the sudden contact. ‘And you are here to make it even weirder!’  
Virgil smiled – he was glad he came. It was funny how familiar this felt: the overdramatic boy, the yellow lights of the classroom defiant in the dark school, a project to be done. It was a funny mix of English projects with Roman and meetings with Logan. He shook his head, clearing it of all thoughts of his former best friend.  
Roman had been so incredibly right about Virgil! Talyn animatedly explained their designs to him, and all the actors tried to do their best to impress him. Not Roman obviously, he was unaffected in his performance by the sight of those slender legs swinging from the desk or the pale knees framed by frayed, dark denim. It was just that it felt right to have him there. The boy's fringe fell in his face as he leaned over the design of Ombretto's cloak, tracing a finger along its intricate design.  
‘How can you afford to make that?’  
Talyn shrugged ‘We’ll find a way. I'll sew it, we’ve all chipped in for thread and beads and things, and I’ll see if the Art Department happens to have like a football field of black fabric spare.’  
‘I’ll bring in some money.’  
‘Thanks.’  
As Talyn bent over their designs again, Virgil looked at Roman. The actor's hair was flopping stupidly into his face as he yelled passionately at Valerie until he unconsciously swept it back with a hand. What a dork.  
For the past few days Virgil had been bringing in a packed lunch and eating by himself outside, but for convenience he began eating with the theatre kids. While he had been terrified of most people in his first few years of high school, he couldn’t believe he’d been too scared to ask to sit with them before now. A larger part of him than he would like to admit wanted Logan to see him with these people, sketching set pieces and joking with Roman about how their play fit into the lore of different fictional worlds (Star Wars was as far as they could make believable). But the Student Body President didn’t so much as look up from his piles of text books when Roman stood up on a table to give his speech with a change in the position of him and Kyle or stop writing his anti-bullying charter when their table was overturned by a particularly annoyed sophomore.


	5. Chapter 5

Logan had never been more productive. He was ahead on homework, debate preparation and extra credit work, more invested than ever in running the student council and had recently taken over running the accounts of Elise's band. Cutting out lunchtime as a break had greatly improved his efficiency, which was doubly true when he followed a traditional meal structure of seven or eight meals throughout the day, skipping the need for a proper lunch altogether. His parents had always tried to understand their unique son, so when he explained his new regimen to them they let him take a smaller dinner at his desk as well, providing that he promised them he wouldn’t work himself too hard. Logan wasn’t working hard enough – he taught himself basic ASL and studied Hamlet, watched Bill Nye on his laptop as he read essays on Cicero, then took up jogging every morning before school so he could join the track team. It may seem counter-intuitive, but two weeks on Logan had confirmed the hypothesis that losing Virgil was the best thing which had ever happened to him.

  
Virgil leant against Logan's bright red locker, looking as though he was the fulfilment of the collective hopes of Simmons High and had fallen back to sleep. The position was much less comfortable than it looked, and the currents of conversation swirling past him were unnerving, but if he couldn’t see Logan coming then he would be engaged in conversation before he could run away.  
There they were – those tapping soles in their regular rhythm cutting across the scuffles and pounding feet of the rest of the student body.

  
‘Virgil.’ succinct for once in his life, the single word from Logan was both an inquiry and an accusation.  
Virgil forced himself to open his eyes slowly. God, Logan looked awful. He had lines under his eyes and his polo shirt had a tiny crease on the shoulder. To the outside eye he seemed fine, but Virgil knew that for Logan this was like rocking up to school in a dressing gown clutching a beer bottle. Why was he like this? Had Elise not checked he was fine after the fight, and had Joan not seen how exhausted he looked, and had the people constantly asking him for help not noticed how overburdened he was? He was with all these damn people the whole time, why hadn’t he asked a single one for help? Virgil hated that he couldn’t stand on his moral high ground when he saw his friend floundering in the waves beneath him.

  
‘Virgil?’ Logan’s forehead was creased with concern.  
'Um, yeah. Well, I was just going to ask you something, but you look really bad man, is everything...Are you okay?’  
'I am fine, not that it is any of your concern. What do you want?’  
‘Well, I’ve joined Roman’s play thing and we really need money for costumes, so I was wondering if you could, you know find some to, you know, fund it.’  
Logan stared at him wide-eyed, ‘Virgil – there is no money. I looked. I don’t know if anyone else but me has realised, but the school has to spend a lot of money ensuring standard of learning is maintained, and its extra-curricular fund is not infinite.’  
‘OK, look, man, let’s do this another time, what time were you up last night?’  
‘Don’t patronise me, Virgil. Let’s do this right now.’ Logan folded his arms and somehow managed to stand even straighter, ‘I have agreed to help a small group of people from my Spanish class go over verb endings before a pop quiz, and I do not want to keep them waiting.’  
‘Fine – what about the debate team trip to New York, could that be made less expensive?’  
‘No. And we can’t cancel – all five of us are counting on a national win or at least placing high out of the finalists for college.’  
‘Well, the theatre kids need stuff for college too.’  
‘I am fully aware of that.’  
‘Well, then can we- ‘  
‘There is no money!’ Logan quietened his voice after people looked round at his outburst, ‘I have checked, and re-checked, and checked again, and we can run debate, sports teams, bands and choir and assorted student-led societies. Nothing else. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to Spanish.’  
‘See you around.’  
Something in Logan went slack at that smallest of amicable farewells. Then he drew himself up again. ‘Goodbye.’  
Time to wade into the fucking river. ‘Logan, wait.’ The boy turned, ‘Um, we’ve been using lunch to iron out small details to maximise rehearsal time. It’s a good plan – I got it from you.’  
Logan smiled a little, ‘Using dead time to work. It does sound like a good plan.’  
Virgil cupped a hand at the back of his neck. ‘Would you like to join us? No big deal, just so you’re not sitting alone anymore.’  
So, Virgil had noticed him – he had seemed too caught up in stirring up the theatre kids to louder and louder shouts of laughter with his little comments and observations. It was a nice gesture, but when Logan had spent so long as one half of a pair it was hard to be tacked onto Virgil’s new group: all loud, all weird and all on the outskirts of the social structure of the school. Besides, they wouldn’t want him there. He doubted Roman wanted him on the same continent as him, let alone the same lunch table.  
‘Sorry, Virgil. I too have been maximising lunchtime efficiency. I – I am glad you at least learnt something from me. Well, I must be going.’

Virgil stood for a moment, watching the crowds rush past him and swallow up Logan. In that moment, he wished he could just let it go, ignore Roman and his crazy dream and Talyn and their beautiful designs trapped on the page, and Dahlia and her corny puns, and Terrence’s dancing, and Valerie’s evil laugh, and Kyle’s love of monologues. He wished he could let go of the memories of green plastic and blood rushing to his head, of the imagined scenario in which he could no longer paint and how much having that taken from him would hurt.

He didn’t want to dramatically run after Logan or tell him he was right and abandon his principles. All he wanted was to be lying on his bed, scrolling through Tumblr and to have Logan flipping through a book on his bedroom floor. Every now and then one would read out something interesting or amusing to the other, mostly they were silent. They might have film music on in the background and there would be a plate of Mint Oreos halfway between them, so that they could both reach. Perhaps later they would brainstorm ideas for Logan’s project, or come up with silly names for emo bands, or watch Cosmos for the fifteenth time and have twin existential crises afterwards. Perhaps they would have dinner with Virgil’s parents and tap Morse code on each other’s chairs beneath the table in one-word inside jokes. Perhaps they would just stay there forever, preserved in the golden afternoon sunlight as though in amber.  
The school bell rang shrilly, and Virgil jumped, cursed, and ran to his first lesson.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------  
It was ironic, really – Logan working on his Macbook in a comfortable suburban house worrying about money. It wasn’t impacting whether he’d eat or what he could afford to spend his weekend doing. It wasn’t part of his job at all to look at the school’s accounts, but Logan could not just stick to ‘salad bars’ or ‘laptops’. He had gotten this job (twice) to change things, and it had given him power and popularity, so he would do it properly. He had negatively impacted the lives of the theatre kids, and now he had to rectify that. Before, he had decided to follow logic: money for football, track and swimming meant college scholarships for the athletes and prestige for the school, which came at the expense of only fifteen people, and only six of these were really hurt by the decision. But now he would try something different – he couldn’t do the impossible Roman wanted him to, but for Virgil he would try his best to examine what he could do to help the play.  
At least he had somewhere to start from: there was no money. How could he get some? Borrowing from a bank wouldn’t work, even if money could be made selling tickets. Fundraising, then. He knew enough by now to know that selling rainbow T-shirts to raise money for theatre may be seen as a slight. Moreover, those free T-shirts were part of a project which would be his legacy to the school which had accepted him: compassion, equality and empathy. Fine, at $3 each if he could sell 50, then that was $150. It was a start.

  
He stared out of his window, down the darkening street. Bake sales? Eight people could make a lot of cake, even if two of those had baking skills so disastrous they had vowed to never try having any snacks but Mint Oreos ever again. Logan pushed away his laptop to lie on his bed instead. He closed his eyes. There was a calculus test tomorrow, and he had an essay due in he really should rewrite. However, his priority should be to help the people he was elected to represent.

\---------------------------------------

  
Mariana Sanders tried. She tried to tell her son he didn’t have to do everything himself, she tried not to feel hurt when he corrected her grammar or brushed aside her view on science even if she held a chemistry degree, she even tried to take his textbooks away from him when he stayed up at night working until he began to plead with her and she relented. His father was happy to let Logan do what he wanted, provided he seemed happy and in control, but she just wanted to understand what was making him happy and if he needed help staying in control. She stopped outside his bedroom door and knocked softly. ‘Honey?’  
‘Vinegar.’ He sounded tired.  
She pushed the door open and threw some papers at him.  
‘`Sweet Pea' and `Pussy Cat': An Examination of Idiom Use and Marital Satisfaction Over the Life Cycle’’ he read, then smiled up at her. ‘We’re not married.’  
‘Same principle.’ She was glad he was lying down, and his school stuff was away on its shelf, ‘Are you going to bed soon?’  
‘Soon.’  
‘Sleep is incredibly important- ‘  
‘I know.’  
She sat down on the bed and tugged on his tie. Sighing dramatically, Logan loosened it, then at a look from his mother removed it completely.  
‘Everything alright with you?’  
‘There’s a lot on. Still, you know me, perfectly in control of it all.’  
‘Invite Virgil over tomorrow, you need a break and I miss his confusion whenever I slip an MCR quote into general conversation.’ She rubbed his arm, ‘I’ll get you guys Oreos.’  
‘Mmm.’  
Mariana frowned. ‘Logan, is everything alright with you and Virgil?’  
That look. He had that look and she was knocked back years. ‘How did you lose your new astronomy book?’, ‘Are you sure that everyone is away on your birthday?’ and once, terrifyingly, ‘Where did you get that bruise?’  
‘No. Just a slight disagreement, both he and I are men of principles…’  
She pulled him into hug, and he broke off. There was a beat before ugly, racking sobs began to shake his body and he clung onto her desperately. ‘There, there.’ She stroked his back.  
A single tear wended its way through Logan’s hair, though he was too upset to notice it. Mariana tried to blink it back. She was the mother, and she was meant to sit and be a rock, not break down alongside her son! But – she was upset for him and angry at him, and goddammit she was human too.  
Logan couldn’t even think straight. ‘Mom.’ He had soaked the back of her top, ‘Mom.’  
‘I’m here, Lo.’ She was crying openly now, ‘Lo, you idiot, I’m here. I’m here.’


	6. Chapter 6

So close. They were so close.  
‘Then this I say, oh noble knight, if you let go of your anger then you could be great. Give up the light – it is so comfortable here in the dark. Vines to hold you close, the canopy to shade you, thorns to protect you. Does the light not burn you?’  
Kyle had a blanket cape round his shoulders and was jutting his chin confrontationally towards Roman. His pose was perfect, he knew his lines inside out, and his emphasis was just as Roman had imagined it when writing the speech late at night in his bedroom.  
Roman suddenly broke out of character, running his hand through his hair. ‘That was great – really, really. Could we run it again? There’s just – you’ve just got to really feel it.’ Roman hated to be that guy – Kyle had been great, and their priority was to get a feel for the new set and adjust their blocking for the stage. But he had to be perfect. Roman would make him perfect no matter what it took, for although he knew the role was one which stretched his friend he had faith in him to get it right. All through workshopping a boy called Raphael had dominated Ombretto, throwing him into dramatic confrontation with Rosso and drawing him back into introspective monologues. To be honest, it had hurt Roman greatly when Raphael left ‘due to creative differences’ and Kyle had to be pulled from the role of Giallo, but he much preferred his friend’s delivery because he had learnt from Patton the importance of an actor subordinating themselves to the character.  
It was six o’clock on a Saturday night and they had been there all day assembling the set, but Kyle ran the lines again - with more feeling. It wasn’t good enough for Roman, but then again hardly anything was. They moved on and he saw Talyn give Kyle encouraging finger guns from the wings. Kyle returned a small smile. Everyone was tired, but Roman had asked them to run through the whole thing again, so they had. While Patton’s entire year would go to the moon and back for him, Roman’s few friends would paint the Kuiper belt rainbow if he asked them to.

They should have gone home and caught up on homework after putting up the set, but the beauty of the set had transported Roman into ecstasies of inspiration, and he doubted Virgil would leave until the building was shut. The boy for once in his life was not scrolling through Tumblr, listening to music or fiddling with his sweater paws. He just sat starry-eyed in the front row of the seating, hunched forward in his over-sized hoody as he tried to hide a grin behind his hands. The set Virgil had built was amazing. Fate had finally given the theatre troupe a helping hand as Dahlia’s neighbours had spare planks of wood from a loft extension they had not technically forbidden her from taking. Virgil had understood the aesthetic of Talyn’s designs and had decided to play around with the handmade nature of the set. Basically, it looked like the child of a Victorian toy theatre and the illustrations in a book of fairy tales raised by a goth/steampunk in the hedge of thorns from Sleeping Beauty. Or that’s how Virgil had pitched it. Originally there had been a scaffolding tower, but they had to improvise with the tall metal balcony from West Side Story Patton had once sung on so happily.

  
Virgil was weirdly proud of himself. He tried to be self-deprecating about his set, however he couldn’t help but be happy with it. Logan had always been complimentary about his work, but he did not have a great understanding of art, and Virgil had suspected the positive feedback was a key bullet point in the Word document ‘How to Get Self-doubting Friend to Apply for College.’ In contrast his new friends had very high standards, so a single nice word from Talyn would go around his head for days and days. Roman had been extremely exacting – a picture of the cliff from the Nightmare before Christmas had literally been ripped off Virgil’s mood board because the smoothness of it ‘didn’t fit the vibe, the emotion’ of the play – and now he was playing in the set like a kid in a candy store. Virgil understood it now, Logan and Roman’s drive for perfection. Oh sure, Logan was a textbook perfectionist and Roman was slapdash and confident in his own abilities, but in his own way the actor was just as meticulous about his work. The play – not yet named because there was not something which fit it well enough – was his baby. And while the set was a part of that brainchild it was Virgil’s own – baby was a weird comparison, it was just…he just had lots of feelings about it he hadn’t had for anything else before, OK? The exercise in 3D space was interesting.

At 22:00, a janitor finally came around. He peeked his head into the auditorium, then walked into it fully. Kyle was perched on the balcony, which was festooned with sequinned purple fabric vines, and Roman was kneeling in centre stage entreating him to come down, framed by chaotic brambles the size of tree trunks and twisted metal spider webs throwing bizarre shadows onto the wall behind him, covered with sheer green fabric donated by Mrs Damon. He looked at Virgil, who was entranced by the scene.

‘Hey kid, you part of this?’ he spoke quietly, not wanting to disturb the actors. Virgil looked up at him and nodded with a grin.  
‘Good on you, kid. I told you that you shouldn’t use your drawing skills for rude caricatures. And now look at you!’  
Virgil was rapidly beginning to lose his sense of mystery and magic. ‘That…that was not me. I told you, and I told the principal that that drawing wasn’t by me.’  
The janitor took off his hat and sat next to Virgil in a fatherly manner. ‘If you didn’t draw that cartoon, then why was it on your locker, heh?’  
Trying to be absorbed into the tear in the seat covering, Virgil gave the man an exasperated look.  
‘Well, I’m here to ask you guys to leave. You need to sleep!’ replied the janitor brightly, completely unfazed by Virgil’s silence. He leaned in even closer to him. ‘How long is there left?’  
‘Fif-een min’tes.’ was mumbled from behind a wall of purple hair.  
‘Fine. You guys promise to look up, then you can have the time.’  
‘Thks.’  
‘Careful of that balcony. Bit rickety.’ With that Malcom headed into the hallway again, marvelling at the impact that simple sentence of his had made on that punk kid. Permanent sharpie and Tipp-ex on that locker as well. Sometimes kids just need a bit of self-belief.

  
Exactly fifteen minutes later, Roman bounded off the stage and thundered up to Virgil. Ignoring the fact that Virgil was putting into practice everything he’d learnt trying to disengage Malcom, he grabbed his hands and pulled him to his feet. ‘A cheer for Virgil!’ he yelled to the others.  
There were scattered cheers from the cast and crew as they cleared up. ‘Visionary, visionary!’ shouted Roman, throwing his hands in the air.  
Virgil blushed. ‘What does that even mean?’  
Roman threw himself down on the gangway, pulling the emo down beside him. ‘One who has unique visions!’  
Virgil looked at him sceptically. ‘I’m sure that’s not the exact definition.’  
‘We can’t all be the calculator watch, can we?’ The annoyance entering Roman’s voice was jarring.  
There was a beat of awkward silence as Virgil refused to forgive Roman or defend Logan.  
Brightly, Roman grabbed Virgil’s hand and admired his nail polish. He looked up at Virgil and whispered, ‘Visionary, visionary.’ Over his knuckles.  
Virgil recoiled and stood up. ‘What the ever-loving fuck was that?!’  
Roman face-palmed. ‘It was meant to be…friendly.’  
‘It was really weird! And not friendly! That was not in the realm of friendly!’  
Roman rocketed to his feet, ‘Sorry to break it to you Virgil, but just because I’m gay, it doesn’t mean that I’m flirting with every straight guy I talk to!’  
‘How is that-? It wasn’t- I didn’t even know that! Anyway, I’m not straight either.’  
‘Well, fine. I’m not.’ Roman put his hands on his hips.  
‘Fine!’  
‘Fine!’  
The two stood angrily staring at each other before dissolving into laughter.  
‘How could you think I was straight?’ howled Roman, ‘And you’re not either? Yes!’ he punched the air.  
Virgil was bent over, clutching his stomach. ‘I…I didn’t want to assume…’  
Dahlia came up the gangway halfway, since the rest of it was blocked by two dorks rolling around on the floor. ‘We’re going to head, if you guys could lock up.’ Breathlessly, Roman waved her on.  
Once the two came to they sat up, lounging against the seating.  
Roman studiously didn’t look at Virgil as he spoke to him. ‘Your set – I love it.’  
‘I know.’ The emo smirked at him, ‘you spent all evening playing in it.’  
Roman’s hand shot to his chest as he gasped, ‘PLAYING! How dare you? I was acting!’ he made a point to gesture dramatically to signal his thespian talent. He put his hand down and turned to Virgil. ‘I do, though,’ he said earnestly, ‘it’s beautiful, and dark, and creepy, and fantastical, and better than I could ever have hoped for. We can do this – we can put on this play.’

  
Virgil’s insides twisted as he looked at the boy across from him, his face desaturated and pupils dilated by the dark. He wasn’t so sure of success. The costumes needed to be big and bold, and that meant lots of fabric and shiny things in elaborate designs. They had asked to use the black fabric which backed the curtain but had unsurprisingly been turned down, and money from rainbow T-shirt sales had covered enough for a dirndl for Margherita bought online and a shimmery brown and green leotard for the malevolent fairy (nicknamed Bob) after the set had been built, but for now the magnificent hoop skirts of the Evil Queen and flowing robe of Ombretto were impossible to realise.  
‘Virgil?’  
The emo snapped his eyes from Roman’s face. ‘Yeah. Let’s not count on…let’s not give on up this.’ He made eye contact again. ‘I believe in you. Or whatever. Dork.’  
Roman smiled to himself a little. ‘And here I was thinking you were some massive edgelord.’  
Virgil raised his eyebrows. ‘You saw my Nightmare before Christmas poster.’  
‘True.’ Roman grinned, ‘But you were too cool for my Randy Newman impression.’  
Virgil giggled. ‘You had a cowboy hat. And a pink plastic radio. And you were fifteen.’  
‘I took it seriously! I wanted to be your friend.’ Roman emphasised each word.  
‘Well, I wanted you to stop singing before I cringed myself a six-pack.’  
They sat in silence for a while, neither wanting to suggest leaving.  
‘I don’t know what I’m going to do with my future.’ Virgil’s head was flung back to look at the set, and his voice was soft.  
Roman rolled onto his stomach, supporting his head on his hands. ‘What do you want to do?’  
‘This.’  
Roman put his hand on Virgil’s and smiled at him reassuringly, ‘Then do it. This is good.’  
‘I…’ Virgil took a shaky breath. ‘I can’t. I’m not good enough.’  
‘Virgil. I have been to four Broadway shows and twenty-three shows in other towns. I watch bootlegs like other kids watch let’s plays. I read about this stuff. I think you could easily design for a smaller show, and once you go to college…Broadway, baby.’  
Virgil felt something suspiciously like hope rise to fill his chest. ‘Why would they take someone like me? From a school like this, which isn’t particularly keen on the arts, if you hadn’t noticed.’  
‘Virgil – you have Mrs Damon who would write a book about you, let alone a recommendation letter. You’ve got this production, which will make one hell of an essay. The school is academic, and your grades are good. Besides, Patton did it – my older brother.’  
‘I guess. But wasn’t he like some genius or something?’  
It was Roman’s turn to break eye contact. ‘Yeah, he is. But we don’t need to be scholarship holders like him or anything. Just good enough.’  
Virgil sat up, ‘You’re worried about acting school, princey? Big brother in New York and half-a-billion extracurriculars. Please.’  
‘No extracurriculars now. But yes, of course I’m worried. I want to go to the same place as Patton, when we went to check it out with him it was…magical. These past few years it’s like he’s living every single dream I have. And I’m happy for him! I am! I’m super proud, but I don’t want to apply and be rejected, and he’ll be super nice about it…you know.’  
‘Do your parents compare you a lot?’  
‘No, god no.’ Roman shook his head emphatically. ‘They’re incredibly proud of both of us. It’s me. I do. And I know I shouldn’t…’  
He broke off and tried to hide the fact that he was crying. The emo scooted closer and awkwardly pulled him into a loose hug, at which point Roman attached himself to Virgil’s hoodie like a baby koala.  
‘Aw, jeez. Come on, dude. Don’t make me give a heartfelt speech. Just like, know, that I think you’re - good.’  
‘Huh! Yeah, I am pretty good! Thanks for reminding me, J-Delightful.’ Roman pulled himself up and punched Virgil in the shoulder.  
‘Alright, dudebro.’  
The boy slumped again. ‘Arggggg. Now you think everything is fine!’  
‘You do not look like everything is fine.’  
‘Well, yeah, no.’  
Virgil just wanted to paint and listen to emo music and be left alone. Why the hell was he landed with looking after overachievers?  
‘Wanna come to my house tonight? We could watch Disney, or whatever. My parents would be happy I have someone to invite over.’  
‘I would love that! I’ll text the old parents…Odin’s eyepatch! It’s eleven already! We’d better hurry!’  
That night as Roman was spread-eagled on his bedroom floor, Virgil tried not to think of the lack of money for costumes, but they joined the usual procession of Logan’s eye bags, situations in which his set would collapse and his plan for the future which marched round his head whenever he tried to sleep.  
Increasingly old-school Disney songs sung in bass, a voice passionately and loudly delivering lines or unaffectedly and quietly trying to explain ideas had echoed around his darkened bedroom too, but he preferred to not think about that.


	7. On Impawsibility

Logan’s father had made him promise to do his best in the debate, and to be careful of the New York boys as his own heart had once been broken by a pink-haired artist from the Bronx. His mother had told him to not bring revision and have fun instead. As soon as he got onto the coach Joan was in charge, making sure everyone was ready, and he’d uninstalled email from his phone so the only motions he’d be worrying about were hypothetical questions with meticulously researched answers. His bag was full of notes and Agatha Christie novels. Virgil and Roman had never been connected to debate at all.

 ‘Alright, guys, we’re almost there so we need to wake up a bit.’ An orange beanie popped over a seat.

Susan threw a travel pillow at Joan and groaned, ‘It’s five in the morning!’

‘We’re going to do word association games!’ Logan sat up, grinning at Joan, who had looked right at him when they suggested that.

‘Debate!’ shouted Miles at the back.

‘Happiness!’ was Logan’s reply.

\----------------------------------------

Below-gan a cheerfully shabby apartment near the best theatre school in New York City, a bespectacled teen was psyching himself up to ring a doorbell with a pawprint on it and a handwritten label in multi-coloured felt tip. ‘You need help, kid?’ asked someone half-dressed in costume for their audition in Heathers. ‘I’m fine, thank you.’ replied Logan stiffly, trying not to stare at the garish tartan blazer.

The girl squinted at him for a moment. ‘You Patton Prince’s little brother?’

If there was one thing Logan wanted to do less than approach the brother of his nemesis the night before the most important debate competition of his life, it was small talk. ‘I sure am.’

His voice was shaky and he was desperately avoiding eye contact. Taking pity on him, the girl quickly leaned over him and pressed the button. ‘Patton, your brother.’

There was a crinkle on the line while Logan awkwardly manoeuvred himself under the girl’s arm. ‘Send him up right away! Boyo am I glad to see you!  Whatcha doing out here? Well you’d _buzzer_ come right up. Thanks Gabriella. Good luck!’

‘Thanks Pat!’ The girl shrugged at Logan’s scowl, put her croquet stick over her shoulder, and marched off, whistling ‘Candy Store.’

Recalibrating the school legend of Patton Prince with this goofy character, Logan started up the stairs, needing to reach the apartment as quickly as possible before he began to panic and rethink this truly, truly awful plan. Oh, look at that – he was already panicking! He paused outside 109, rehearsing what he would say. Then he rapped smartly on the door. It was flung open by a – woman? With glasses? He’d thought that Patton was a guy, but clearly-

She was singing. She was singing at him. She was wearing a trilby. A man jumped out behind a hat stand and swirled her into a kiss before two more men came out with synchronised jazz hands. Unsurprisingly, the group’s singing was very good. In time with the music, a man in a baby blue polo, the same glasses as Logan himself and a trilby jumped out ‘I want to be a part of it – New York, New York!’ He cut out suddenly, leading the other four to trail off, looking at him in confusion.

‘Who are you?’

Logan tried to practice socialisation, he really did. He could do small talk with students, ask intelligent questions about music with Elise and had stopped using probability percentages and fronts in his discussion of weather. But he was not ready for this. The display explained Roman but not really anything else. Patton recognised the boy in the doorway – although based off the pictures Roman had sent him he should have devil horns in red biro ink. It just took him a moment to process what that particular boy was doing here, some thousand miles away from their home town. The boy readjusted his tie and decided to break the silence. ‘Greetings, Patton Prince. I am Logan Sanders, the Student Body President of your alma mater, Simmons High.’ He paused for a moment, observed the expressions of the five roommates and explained further. ‘I am not Roman. Nor do I like or even tolerate singing, dancing and such frivolities in make-believe.’  When no-one responded to this he continued. ‘However, I am here about Roman and his play. On behalf of the school.’

Patton’s face broke into a sunshiny grin, ‘Well, shucks, come on in.’

 

Logan quickly unlaced his shoes, although he didn’t like the lack of formality that afforded him. He was pretty sure that the yellow of the hallway walls and the purple of the carpet were clashing colours, and he did not understand why there were multicoloured handprints on the kitchen cabinets or a host of stuffed animals on the sofa even though the average age of the occupants was twenty-two. Despite the fact that the other four students had each been in the middle of something before trying to surprise Patton’s little brother, they made themselves comfortable in the living room, interested in the next instalment in the saga Patton relayed to them each week. Logan elected to stand, not taking off his backpack.

Larry spoke incredulously over the quiet noises from Patton making tea in the other room ‘Logan who closed the theatre programmes?’

‘I did not close the theatre programmes, I advised the school on the best course of action to take to help the sixty-five students in sports-based extracurriculars.’ Logan replied to a spot one metre over Larry’s head.

Dot continued – ‘Logan from Patton’s old high school? In Florida?’

Corbyn broke in, ‘Do you want to sit down, at least? We’re not scary people.’

‘Yes, yes and no thank you. Scariness is subjective.’ Logan still couldn’t make eye contact.

‘What’s your favourite Disney film?’ was Sloane’s question.

‘Big hero six. I fail to see how that is relevant to the matter at hand.’ He was being weird, he was being weird, what would Virgil say? ‘Since we are all destined to die alone anyway.’ Reading the room, he should not have taken socialising tips from a guy who hissed when people annoyed him.

‘Well…’ Sloane replied, trying to keep his expression neutral, ‘I have a Baymax plushie in my bedroom if you want to hold it?’

‘I am not a child.’

‘So…’

‘Yes please.’

Patton nudged the door open with his hips, holding three mugs in each hand. With a swiftness caused by bitter experience, Corbyn took a few off him. Logan was now sitting cross-legged on the floor holding a Baymax toy and cradling a mug of tea, surrounded by college students and cartoon memorabilia.

Patton sat near him, leaning his back on an empty armchair. ‘So, kiddo, what’s up?’

‘You may be aware that Roman is attempting to put on a play without any school funding.’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I am here to ask for your assistance. It is likely students here would donate to putting on the play given their passion for theatre and probable affection for you. As both a fourth year and scholarship student it is also likely that you could ask a scout to go and see the people performing, as well as the set and costumes.’

‘I’ll do whatever I can, sure. People love an underdog. How’s Roman doing?’

‘Whoah, whoah, whoah!’ broke in Corbyn, ‘Logan, do your parents know where you are? Why are you in New York?’

‘I am here for a national debate competition.’

‘Yeah, I’m still a bit confused.’ added Sloane, ‘aren’t you trying to stop the play, so they won’t get funding.’ He broke off at Patton’s ‘parental warning’ eyebrows.

Logan put his mug down on the coffee table with a bang. ‘Falsehood!’

‘Alright slugger, calm down. Sloane here was just getting a little carried away, is all. I’m sure you’re all president and correct.’

‘Humorous.’ said Logan with no expression whatsoever, ‘If you are in accordance with this plan, then I shall leave, I have a competition tomorrow after all.’

‘We do need to iron out some details first. Could I get your number?’

 

As they exchanged numbers Dot made an escape back to her thesis, but the rest of the students were in this for the long-haul.

Corbyn was not going over his Hamlet monologue one more time, so he grabbed a piece of paper and a pen in the intent of taking notes. ‘How much money do you need?’

‘About $200 should be sufficient. That will cover costumes and the last few props.’

As Corbyn scribbled that down Patton tilted his head to the side. ‘Roman didn’t mention that you co-ordinated this with him. He could have just called me.’

Logan stood up a little straighter, ‘Well, uh, the thing is – he doesn’t know I’m here. Technically he does know that I am in New York, but not that I visited you. I asked Talyn for the hypothetical price of costumes and decided to set this plan into motion.’

‘A random, anonymous act of kindness?’ squealed Patton.

‘…sure.’  This was strictly true, even if Logan’s reason for not wanting to have a conversation with Roman and his friends was a little more complicated than that. ‘It is common knowledge that you came here for college, and Elise asked her older brother where you lived. He gave me the address on the condition that I told you ‘spotlight llama’. What does it mean?’

Patton burst into laughter. ‘Just a little incident involving us two when we were in ‘Singing in the rain’ together. Nothing to…’ he broke off giggling, ‘Nothing to….hoo boy….nothing to allarma you.’

Inside jokes and people laughter at something Logan didn’t understand. Another one of his favourite things.

‘So rather than talk to Roman and email Patton, you estimated the costs of the costumes plus props and visited us in New York?’ asked Corbyn, looking up from his sheet.

‘I do not understand everyone’s confusion. I am here to help. Just let me sort this out.’

‘You don’t have to do too much. I know I may seem like a big ol’ goofball but I’m four years older than you and perfectly capable of doing this. We just need to find a way to transfer the money.’

Logan frowned at Patton. ‘I never said you weren’t capable. I do not doubt that you will perform your part of this adequately.’

The man shrugged guilelessly as Corbyn smiled down at his sheet, still not quite used to Patton’s ability to read people after four years. ‘Well, let’s sort this out.’

Eventually everything was prepared and Logan got ready to go back to the hostel for dinner and last-minute practice with the team.

 

As Logan put his shoes on, Patton leaned on the garish wall opposite him, looking at the door rather than into Logan’s eyes.

‘Everything’s going to be fine, kiddo. Be easy on yourself.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘A feeling.’

‘The bane of my existence.’

Patton smiled then held the door open for him. ‘Good luck tomorrow – have a de-great debate! Yeesh, not my best. Ooh, also! Say hi to Elise for me! And tell Roman to sleep and to call me if he has a problem with the play.’

Logan straightened his shoelaces, then stood. ‘I can’t do that. From the way your roommates were behaving, you should know how much Roman dislikes me. I mean, he thinks I would sabotage his play!’

Patton folded his arms and raised his eyebrows. ‘No. You’re going to tell him. You’re going to tell him that you came to New York and asked me for help, and you’re going to tell him that I think you’re pretty neat, and you’re going to tell him to stop overworking himself on the play and to go out on the weekend with his friends, and you’re going to do the same thing!’

Logan saw his mother in that speech and was rightly scared of the sound of tough love.

He nodded.  ‘Alright. Thank you. Farewell.’

So Roman hadn’t told Patton that Logan didn’t have any proper friends now. Perhaps it was hard to tell when from the outside Logan was objectively one of the most popular people in their school. Still, it was a small mercy, and since he had no intention of following through with any of Patton’s orders he was glad that there was at least one promise he wasn’t breaking.


	8. Chapter 8

Logan came in to school that Monday to a huge banner reading ‘Simmons Debate Champions 2k18’. While the ‘k’ was incredibly annoying, he was touched. They had narrowly lost to a Californian team, but second in the nation wasn’t too shabby. He walked through the hallway to arm punches and shouts of ‘Go Logan!’ or ‘Well done!’. As he came into the Maths classroom Elise leapt onto a table with a crash and pulled out some pom-poms. She chanted ‘Go Logan. L-O-G-A-N!’ and there was a bellowing cheer from a group of boys at the back. He grinned. Going over to Elise, he was filled in with the plan for their meeting, and then regaled with a song-by-song retelling of her concert on the weekend. Usually he would sit next to Virgil, but his former friend was behind him next to Dahlia, so after Elise left to talk to a band member he pulled out a book. After reading the same sentence a couple of times and giving up on it, he tried to go over the elements in his head. ‘Good job, Sanders!’ James leaned far too close to Logan as he spoke, and then whirled away into a discussion of a school football win.

Logan ripped a sheet of paper out of his square-lined exercise book before he could stop himself. Not bothering to use a ruler, he constructed a table of words people had said to him that day. Discounting Elise as an outlier, the average number of words per person was nine. He was an idiot to do it, and he hadn’t really written anything for himself since moving schools, but he scrawled a poem on the paper.

Logan go

Debate job

Good buddy

Well dude

Congrats

Sanders done

He threw the paper away as class began but couldn’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the lesson.

\-----------------

‘Nice shoes.’

‘Why, thank you!’ beamed Roman as the members of the student council snickered. He was wearing in some boots spray-painted silver which were part of Rosso’s suit of armour, and they looked pretty cool with black trousers and a pink theatre camp T-shirt.

The door closed firmly, and everyone sat up a bit as Logan walked in. ‘Greetings. I see we are all present so let us begin immediately. Firstly, a proposal to run the so-called school play for three nights rather than one. Roman Prince will present points in favour of this.’

Roman leapt to his feet as Logan sat down at the teacher’s desk. Throwing an arm out Roman projected his voice, causing some eyerolls at his volume. ‘Friends, classmates, lovers of theatre.’

Logan held up a hand. ‘Please state your case clearly and simply. This is not the Globe.’

‘Fine.’ Roman took a deep breath and loosened his stance, ‘How does a small-scale production, born of a wish and some hark work- ’

‘If that is meant to be Hamilton I will ban you from ever putting forward a motion again.’ Roman stood still for a moment as though shedding the personas he’d built to confront the Student Body President, then began his speech for a third time. ‘I am here on behalf of the Drama club- ‘

‘There is no Drama club. You mean you are here on behalf of a group of students.’

Taking an extremely deep breath, Roman continued. ‘I am here to ask that a group of students I represent can perform the school – can perform a play which we are part of for three nights: the Saturday 18th as already arranged as well as Friday 17th and Sunday 19th.’

‘No. Next person.’

‘Why ever not?’ Roman cried, stepping back.

Logan leaned forwards. ‘The choir have booked the space for a practice until eight on the Friday and there are not enough ticket sales to warrant an extra performance on the Sunday. Sorry, but especially seeing as the school is already letting you use the space on the 18th we have to deny your request.’

‘Nobody wants to see your play, dude.’ chimed in Elise, ‘even if the lights are going to be awesome.’ Susan snickered and high-fived her.

Roman stood his ground. ‘I’m sorry but that is unacceptable. While everything possible has been done to snuff out the flames of hope for this play they are burning brightly and their light shall not be covered.’ Logan rolled his eyes at the mixed metaphor, but let Roman continue.

‘There are two weeks to the start of the play. The acting is perfect. _Virgil’s_ set is perfect.’ Logan flinched at this, and Roman took a step forward. ‘Talyn has almost finished costumes paid for with money collected by my brother at his college, and the same college is sending both an acting scout and someone who is part of the admissions team for costume and set design to see the play. ‘We have already sold enough seats to warrant one performance, and once Virgil and Talyn’s posters are up then we should be able to run at least one more production. This play is important to prove how important theatre is to this school. The arts are important – they teach creativity, confidence, problem solving, critical thinking skills, perseverance and how to work as part of a team. They are also linked to improved academic importance. As this play would increase interest in Drama and our club it would therefore improve the school as a whole. Beyond-’

Logan cut in, smiling painfully, ‘I’m always happy to hear the opinions of others but really, I don’t think this is possible.’

Paulo waved a hand at Logan, ‘Shh, I want to hear what he has to say.’

There was a murmur of agreement from the rest of the Student Council. Roman continued, placing his hands squarely on Logan’s desk and leaning forward. ‘Beyond this, this play is an end in itself. For months we have been working on this production. Surely this effort should result in a peak? The play should be shared with the rest of the student community. Taking a different angle, as exam season approaches it will be a good break from revision for people to have a trip to the theatre. Thusly, this play is both a great success for those working on it and a small treat for others. I ask you this Logan, if life does not have times of happiness breaking up a journey to a greater goal, then what is the point of life at all?’

Logan sputtered before managing to reply. ‘How can- how can you think that that is a viable argument? I have just told you that we cannot open the school. It doesn’t matter what your feelings are.’

‘I will make it work.’ Roman leaned back and raised an eyebrow, ‘For only those who are unable to come up with the method to do something call it impossible.’

‘Stop. I have done enough to help you. You go too far. You cannot demand the impossible from me!’

‘I’m not demanding it from you. I have come to the whole Student Council to ask to help realise this epic dream of mine.’

Logan stood up slowly. ‘I’m done with you. You need to leave.’

Elise swung her feet off her desk and sat up. ‘Hey, Logan, this is a democracy. I’m invoking my power as vice-president or whatever to take this to a vote. Nerd fighting is over.’

Logan began tapping his foot very quickly in order to channel his anger away from him. He hated Roman with a passion. Logan had done everything in his power to help this little bratty baby, and here he was undermining him in his own Student Council and asking for even more. And Elise – the two of them had always maintained a civil relationship and they worked well together, but why did she have to reign him in by publicly humiliating him?

Elise didn’t even bother to stand to announce the vote. ‘Alright then, guys. All in favour of opening the auditorium for two extra nights, asking the choir to move their practice and getting in staff to oversee the event?’

Susan followed Elise, as was expected. Tristan had been in theatre, so his vote was predictable. Paulo was an idealistic fool. Rani – surely Rani would understand – but no, her slim silver watch was raised like an enemy flag over a conquered castle. Roman whooped and did an impromptu dance. ‘Thank you! Come every night! It will be awesome!’

Logan was not going to let this be a three-night production. Still, even one extra night meant that he had lost to a buffoon with silver wellies on.

\--------------------------------

Outside the hallway lights were harsh white and the rise and fall of conversation was like crashing waves, but it was comfortable in the soft twilight of the auditorium. Virgil lay on his back beneath the metal balcony, trying to add some extra supports onto it. His phone was playing Evanescence quietly and he was humming to himself, even half-singing some of the lyrics. A bed in the corner, a plug for his phone, and perhaps a table to sit on – yep, he could live in his forest quite happily. The sense of space in the empty hall was weirdly reminiscent of the freedom of sitting on his windowsill, although he was cocooned in the stage light.

A sliver of light fell on the floor and in slipped a boy wearing a T-shirt in a truly horrific shade of pink. Virgil looked up, then returned to his task, enjoying the way the burble of the outside world was closed out again as the door closed. The silence deepened, stretching cool and deep as though they were underwater. Roman jumped up onto the stage, dangling his legs off the stage and inhaling deeply. Sawdust, musty fabric and paint. ‘Guess who’s going to be a disreputable, yet very attractive knight for three nights in a row?’

Virgil grinned. ‘I told you you could do it, dude. I think the boots helped.’

‘Oh, certainly. Silver boots are the mark of a gentleman.’ Roman nodded in mock-seriousness.

As they chuckled a single G-note cut the silence of the auditorium like Moses parting the Red Sea. Virgil sat up. Roman put a hand on his chest. ‘Did you just G-note me?’

‘What?’

‘Virgil, I have been a closeted middle school kid with an overachieving older brother and more bullies than friends. I said, did you just G-note me?’

Virgil scoffed. ‘I don’t believe that you-’ 

Roman stood up and began to sing at Virgil.

‘When I was a young boy

My father took me into the city

To see a marching band

He said, son, when you grow up

Would you be the saviour of the broken

The beaten, and the damned?’

He began to soften here, singing for the sake of it rather than to prove he knew the lyrics.

‘He said, will you defeat them

Your demons and all the non-believers?

The plans that they have made?

Because one day I'll leave you

A phantom to lead you in the summer

To join the black parade’

As he ended the verse his voice was soft, and his dark eyelashes rested against his cheeks as he focused on the song. Virgil sat completely still, heart beating uncomfortably fast. At the end of the verse Roman opened a single eye to look at Virgil. ‘Come on, Hot Topic, I need you for this! You know you want to!’

‘I can’t sing – that was really good-‘

‘ _Virgil_ we’re running out of time.’

‘Alright.’

Virgil slipped under a bar and stood by Roman. He sang (screamed) the next bit with lots of punching the air and pulling down fists as Roman struck dramatic poses. They sounded – awful. Truly awful. Neither noticed. Still, their dancing was pretty in sync until the drum bit came and any semblance of rhythm was lost. They jumped up and down flailing their arms in all directions, span around in a circle with each other, and hung off the balcony to sing upside-down. Virgil quickly turned up the volume on his phone, then threw himself at Roman, who twirled him across the stage. Roman tried to do some of his dance from Oliver, Virgil was just doing his best impression of Gerard Way in the music video.

‘Do-or-die…make me…CARRY OOOON!’ they finally finished, panting. Virgil ran his eyes over Roman’s face and took a slow step forward. The music melted into the guitar opening of ‘I will follow you into the dark’ by Death Cab for Cutie. Roman began to breathe even more quickly. Silver boots and purple trainers nudged at the toes. Hesitantly, Roman placed a hand on Virgil’s waist. The boy cupped a hand around Roman’s neck. Then he coughed and took a few steps backwards. ‘Um…for someone who does so much musical theatre, you really should dance better.’

Roman paused in confusion but quickly threw on a smile. ‘Well you still haven’t quite mastered the lizard tongue.’

‘I’m working on it.’ Virgil stuck his tongue out and Roman forced out a laugh. Virgil scuffed his trainers.

‘Well, I’d better get on this. Balcony won’t stabilise itself.’

‘Yeah – I’ll go…tell the others the news.’

Was this a normal pace to walk? Was he going too slowly? Would Virgil be offended if he walked faster?

‘Uh, Roman?’

‘Yeah?’

Virgil looked down at the last moment. ‘You’re…you’re a really good singer.’

Roman let his shoulders fall and smiled a little. ‘Not too bad yourself, Virge.’


	9. Disaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING Heights, injuries, concussion, panic attack mention, falling WARNING
> 
>  
> 
> I don't know how accurate the medical stuff is - please don't take my word on any of it, I did my best with the help of Google and it needs to be a certain way for the plot.

It was a typical Tuesday lunchtime with everyone backstage. Talyn was gluing some sequins onto Valerie’s crown. Valerie was practicing her evil chant with Terrence. Terrence was stretching next to Dahlia. Dahlia was waiting for her wicker basket to be fixed by Virgil. Virgil was doing that while bantering with Roman. Roman was putting 40% of his effort into chatting with Virgil and 60% into being casual and not talking about feelings.

Kyle was on the balcony alone, alien in his black cloak and heavy makeup. He was in the middle of his ending monologue, repeating each sentence until it was perfect and then running over the entire thing. He kept stopping and starting with different emphasises each time.

‘ _And_ so I say…No, no, no…. And so, _I_ say.’ He kicked the balcony. ‘Argh! Stupid line!’

There was a clang as a piece of pipe fell off the balcony. Roman stood up to yell in Kyle’s general direction, ‘Hey, Virgil built that!’

Another clang rang out and Roman huffed and jogged onto the stage. As he rounded the corner he was greeted by the sight of Kyle holding onto a swaying balcony white-knuckled, staring wide-eyed and making no noise at all. A huge, flickering shadow was thrown up behind him as if even now the stage wanted to amplify the impact of any action taking place on it. Kyle was slowly shifting his weight back to the centre of the balcony, but the tower tipped in that direction with him. Roman ran forward ‘Kyle! Kyle! Just hold-’

There was a screech as the top slid off, followed by a deafening crash as Roman instinctively ducked down and hid his head. He opened his eyes slowly. The others ran in, then froze.  Where Kyle and the balcony had been was a pile of metal and a body thrown across the stage, its cloak making a dark pool. A sunbeam suddenly shifted, glinting off the extra supports in the mound of pipes and tangled vines. Six hearts raced each other. Roman couldn’t comprehend what had happened. He felt like if he didn’t move then maybe everything would zoom back into place like footage played backward, supports clicking into place and his friend standing on top of the balcony again.

Suddenly, Kyle gave a groan.

Everyone ran forward, and Terrence turned Kyle over. Roman began to shake. ‘OK, OK. Alright, uh… Kyle how are you feeling?’

Kyle sat up slowly. Clutching his head, he tried to stand before falling with a shout.

‘OK, OK, OK.’ _Roman you can do this._ ‘Valerie, call 911. Terrence, check for any bleeding and don’t let him pass out. Talyn, help Terrence. Dahlia calm down Virgil, I think he’s having a panic attack. I’ll go get a teacher.’

He sprinted up the gangway, breath already tight as he burst through the auditorium doors. He ricocheted off lockers and elbowed his way past ambling students, shouting incomprehensibly. The colours were too bright, the sounds too loud, but despite his desperation he was not impervious to the cutting stares or laughs at the wheeling of his arms as he ran up the stairs. He skidded around a corner and threw himself at the door of the nurse’s office, pounding on it. ‘Help! Help!’

The door was yanked open. ‘You’ll get detention if-’

Mr Macready softened on seeing Roman’s wide eyes. ‘What happened?’

‘It was Kyle and he broke his leg and banged his head and it was the balcony and he didn’t move and…’

Mr Macready placed a hand on Roman’s arm. ‘Roman, breathe. Did you call 911?’

‘Yeah.’ Roman nodded quickly.

‘Has he woken up?’

‘Yes.’

Mr Macready patted his arm twice, as if comforting a spooked horse. ‘OK, let’s go.’

Making his way through a crowded hallway was much easier when Roman was behind a barrel-chested nurse not worried about pushing over students who didn’t get out of his way. He saw everything in snapshots: Mr Macready checking Kyle’s head, Virgil tapping out rhythms in a corner, the yellow ambulance doors swinging open. The rest of the day was a blur until he collapsed into bed at home.

\--------------------------------

Backstage the next day and everything was shaken up. Kyle was out of school as he had suffered a concussion, but miraculously no permanent damage had been done to his head. However, his leg had indeed been broken. Roman stood up to address his friends, who were slumped over boxes and blocking. He had spent the previous night googling head injuries and broken legs and reading the stage directions on speakerphone to Patton. ‘Alright, so now we have to figure out what to do. Kyle will be fine, but I don’t know if he’ll be able to perform with crutches. Ombretto’s pretty dynamic in his movements.’

Tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie, Virgil stood up, his eyeshadow covering actual eyebags. ‘It was my fault the balcony collapsed. Malcom – the janitor dude – said it was rickety, and I tried to stabilise it, but I failed and-’

There was a muted chorus of disagreement from the group.

‘And basically, it’s my fault so I’ll help you. I’ll play Ombretto.’

Roman’s mouth fell open.

‘I mean, probably I’ll completely suck, I mean I’ll definitely suck-’

‘Virgil,’ Roman cut in, ‘I would love to have you play the part. But only if you want to, not if you’re doing it is as some form of punishment. Besides, do you know the lines at all?’

‘I don’t want to do it, if I’m honest.’ Virgil let go of his sleeve and looked up, ‘But I want to help you guys. I want this thing to, you know, work. I want you guys to get to act, and for people to see Talyn’s costumes and – also I want them to see my set. I do know the gist of what he’s saying in each line, I’ll need to learn them properly, though. I know the meeting scene since you did that half-a-billion times when we were in the English classroom.’

Valerie sat up. ‘Well, let’s just have you run through that with Roman, and if it really doesn’t work we can ask Raphael back.’

Roman smiled. ‘Alright, we’ll go from when I enter.’

‘Could I…could I have the cloak?’

‘Uh…sure. Whatever works for you!’ Roman threw the cloak in Virgil’s general direction. Since he didn’t aim that well and Virgil didn’t have great athletic abilities either it fell quite a bit short.

Virgil draped the cloak around his shoulders and climbed onto some blocks. Roman went behind a curtain to reappear as Rosso. He shaded his eyes to look up the ‘tower’ and bellowed. ‘Lo! Could that be a minion of the evil queen?’

Virgil swept his fringe over his face and bit his lip. He made his voice gravelly, ‘A voice? Who would dare disturb me in my tower?’

Roman had to…take a moment after that. The pause caused Virgil to put his head in his hands. ‘Argh, that was stupid. Could Terrence be him?’

‘Hey!’ Terrence interjected, ‘I am Bob. Bob is me. Virgil, just…try less teen-y love interest.’

‘But he _is_ a teen-y love interest.’ Roman said from the side of his mouth.

‘Try to play it more low-key.’ advised Valerie

Virgil exhaled. ‘I’ll go from after Roman’s line.’

‘Hello? Do you work for the Evil Queen?’ proclaimed Roman.

Virgil found the next line a bit easier. He hunched forward and looked away from Roman. ‘Who are you to ask?’

Roman stood directly under Virgil and looked up at him. ‘Nobody. A friend.’

Oh, this bit Virgil could do. He raised his eyebrows and tilted his chin at Roman. ‘Nobody? Or a friend?’

Roman grinned and shook his head. ‘Depends.’

‘On what?’ Virgil leaned forward.

‘What are you doing in a tower in the middle of this forest?’

Alright, he could do this. ‘I am not human as you are. I am cursed - with magic. Only when I am here is the world safe from me. In return for my seclusion, I aid the Evil Queen. The dark is the only place I belong.’ He sounded genuinely bitter, and at the last line he improvised a little. ‘So, light one, what brings you to a place like this?’

Roman grinned recklessly and waved his sword for emphasis. ‘Adventure! I am Rosso, and I fear nothing!’

Virgil drew back a bit, ‘I’m sorry, Rosso.’

‘Why is that, enchanter?’

Ombretto’s fear won over his curiosity and he acted in accordance with the wishes of the Evil Queen rather than with his humanity. Rosso drew back in fear as the vines began to move like snakes and wrap around his arms. ‘I’m sorry, Rosso.’ repeated Ombretto, ‘because you are a fool. And because I must do this.’

‘You must do nothing! Your destiny is your own!’ Rosso cried out, hacking at the thorns. ‘Please, don’t do this to yourself.’

Ombretto laughed bitterly. ‘My destiny is negligible. It’s my life I’m worried about.’

Terrence jumped into the scene, and Ombretto started at the sound as the faery searched unsuccessfully for the source of the conversation he’d overheard. Quickly, the enchanter wove an invisibility charm to protect the knight, not questioning why he did so at the time.

Then the scene changed to one with the Evil Queen, but in reality the spell was broken by applause.

‘Virgil – you’re amazing!’ cried Roman.

‘So…does he get the part?’ asked Terrence. The others looked at Roman expectantly.

Should Virgil get the part? With Virgil as Ombretto the play would be perfect. Without any practice he was almost as good as Kyle was, he kind of knew the lines, he had great chemistry with Roman, he fit the character (Roman decided deliberating why Virgil fit the character he’d written so well was for later). It would be perfect. Roman could perform the play with the hot emo love interest played by his actual hot emo love interest and show everyone that he was deserving of that romance. Perhaps he could reintroduce the stage kiss? No, it was clear their first kiss would be private, which Roman would still like. Roman was an acting powerhouse and Virgil inhabited Ombretto as comfortably as his patchwork hoodie. Together they would be unstoppable.

Then there was Kyle. Kyle who had practiced every single day for that role. Kyle who had been running through his lines to fit Roman’s idea of perfection when he fell. Kyle who had been with Roman in every production since the kindergarten nativity (Sheep #2 and Cow #4).  The likely event would be that Kyle would be able to perform his part. He just wouldn’t be able to walk so well.

Roman believed in his status as an artist. He told his story to himself over and over again: the bullies would beg for his autograph one day, he would talk in interviews about how he had to perform a play with no funding (from the school) and the tale about how he fell for Virgil was a love story for all time. Roman believed in drama and it certainly was dramatic to at the last minute choose passion over experience and sweep Virgil into twin stardom with himself.

Kyle was the safer choice.

If Roman took a chance on Virgil it could make the play.

No. Roman was not going to risk this play. He was going to make the sensible decision and be a good friend. If the tower would have to be a low platform or crutches were an anachronism, then so be it. Besides, the forest was imaginary. It was not possible for the play to be perfect, but he knew that Kyle would make it amazing.

He ‘Alright, here’s my decision, and it’s final. Virgil, that was amazing. But Kyle has to play Ombretto. I want Virgil to be the understudy. So, learn those lines inside-and-out.’

Virgil nodded, disappointment and embarrassment tinging his relief as he took off the cloak.

‘Roman?’ grinned Valerie, ‘are you going to say it?’

‘Yeah, go on, say it!’ cried Terrence.

Virgil face-palmed, sighing loudly. ‘Dear god, please don’t say it.’

Roman put a foot on a crate and threw out a hand. ‘The show…MUST GO ON!’                                                                                                                    


	10. The Play

Roman stood completely still as Virgil dusted off his plastic armour like a medieval squire. It was kind of an awkward dynamic, but it was the best way to clean the suit and tonight it had to be pristine. The space between them which was usually shot through with the lightning of quips and laughs and darting looks was as still and full as a summer night - Roman could feel the hairs on his arms stand up as electricity coursed across his skin. On the other side of the room Kyle sat completely still as Talyn drew swirling designs on his face like warpaint, and as the two actors made eye contact they exchanged tight smiles. Stretching slowly, Terrence limbered up in a corner.

The audience was restless in the bright houselights, shouting to each other and barking with laughter, those alone scribbling on the faces in the paper programmes, the groups gossiping and kneeling backwards on the seats. It was a hot night; the smell of sweat and the futile attempt of perfume and aftershave to mask it rolled off the audience. Virgil’s parents politely pushed their way down the aisle, slipping in spilled soda and crunching through dropped popcorn, only to find their reserved seats covered by sprawling sophomores.

Hemmed in by jostling teens on all sides two scouts sat together, one delightedly taking notes on the set and the other massaging his forehead at the barrage of noise. It was just his luck that the play was written by a student! It was awful seeing the classics butchered, but there was nothing like a play by a teenager to make him miss his diligent students back at the college. His head was assaulted again by a huge whooping and he considered whether if he left at half-time he could be on the plane by nine.

 Patton looked at the source of the clamour subtly, not breaking off his effusive praise of Kyle’s fortitude to his parents. He concealed a frown as he got them to turn and look at the control booth where Elise was setting up so that they wouldn’t see the game of hoopla with the oversized thorns and some baseball caps which had sprung up.

Virgil darted onstage and collected the hats, ignored friendly shouts asking him to throw them back, and dumped them in a corner. Roman jumped at the noise. ‘What happened?’

Virgil was already restacking some spell books. ‘Nothing.’

‘Did any of the set malfunction, or-?’

Virgil put his hands out placatingly. ‘Dude. It’s nothing.’

‘Are people chanting something?’ Roman whirled his head around. ‘Dahlia - were people chanting something?’

Dahlia frowned. ‘No. I-I don’t think so.’ She began to feel a little shaky.

Virgil walked over to put his hands on Roman’s shoulders. ‘Roman. Pull yourself together. Don’t worry about them. This is you, on a stage, where you are happiest and most comfortable. Don’t worry about my set. It’s been checked pretty fucking thoroughly after a student _broke his leg on it.’_ He took a moment to collect himself. ‘Sorry. But, yeah. You can do this.’

Roman nodded and took a shaky breath: sawdust, musty fabric and paint. ‘OK. Thanks.’

Virgil half turned away, then spun back around and grabbed Roman’s hand. ‘Visionary, visionary.’ he addressed the floor.

Roman squeezed his hand, then smirked, ‘or whatever.’

Virgil snorted. ‘Dude! I was trying not to say that!’

‘But you didn’t.’ Roman positioned himself in the wings as the lights went down ‘Thank you.’

The music slowly faded in. Even then conversations were continued in whispers, lacerating the silence of the auditorium. Patton leaned forward. A darkened figure with hunched shoulders squeezed into the back, the green light of the exit sign reflecting on their glasses and hiding their eyes. They leaned against the wall with hands jammed into their pockets as they rubbed their thumbs over loose change, keeping their feet light on the ground as if poised to run away.

Dahlia began the prologue of the play – in the end it was called simply ‘Rosso and Ombretto’.

Virgil patted his friend on the shoulder. Roman took a deep breath. Then he quickly kissed Virgil on the cheek. Virgil stood transfixed, bright red, but when Roman’s eyes met his it was as though a spell had been broken and he ran backstage. Roman swallowed and snapped back into reality. Idiot. He tugged on his hair and closed his eyes. Wait. Was that his cue? Oh god, had he just missed his cue? No? No. He strained to hear Dahlia over the rush of blood in his ears and whispering audience. That was it! He charged onstage (a couple of lines early) and spewed out his opening speech into the gaping void of the audience.

By the interval it was going pretty well. There were no slip-ups on lines and everything was delivered in a suitably emotional manner. There were a few laughs at the most dramatic bits, but generally people were interested enough.

Logan slipped out of the auditorium as soon as the lights went up to hide in a broom cupboard until the second half began. He hadn’t really understood the nonsensical play, but the set was so obviously Virgil’s that he couldn’t take his eyes of off it. He aggressively wiped his glasses as if it was a fault with them which had caused dripping onto his face. It was so beautiful. It was the culmination of every doodle Virgil had done in his exercise books, every one of those gothic things which Virgil liked which Logan tried so desperately to understand. He recognised the thorns from Sleeping Beauty which he had watched with Virgil to deconstruct presentation of ideas of consent and gender roles. The spiders’ webs were made with that metalworking technique Virgil went on a summer course to learn – Logan had been forced to make his way through all of Tim Burton’s work for that ‘favour’ to him, as if Virgil building skills and having things for college essays was useful only to Logan. The colour of the vines, that purple was the nail polish Virgil had been applying on a sleepover when he had told Logan _every detail_ of a guy he liked from an external art class, each stacked as a reason why Virgil could never, ever talk to him. Logan closed his eyes and inhaled, the smell of bleach and cleaning products stinging his nose. The tower was the recent illumination project. How had Roman got him to do that set? He poured his soul into it and put in on display, where he usually wouldn’t let Mrs Damon display the simplest of his sketches. At least the scouts were here. He began to calm his breathing. It was fine. He took a deep breath and edged out of the cupboard. One more hour. He owed it to all the drama kids to watch this project of theirs he had almost been the death of.

The second act began and the seed of good within Ombretto started to blossom with it. Kyle was amazing, by turn tentative and growling, remorseful and defiant. He was agile on the crutches, and by this point nobody noticed them. Roman was in his element, entreating the man to repent while not dealing with his own demons. All the while the threats of Terrence, who stole every scene he entered, the innocence of Dahlia and the hidden malice of Valerie wove an increasingly complex web the pair were entangled in.

It was the final scene. Roman often felt dizzy near the end of a play: euphoric, dramatic, swept into the glamour of it. This time, however, he felt hurt, confused, betrayed – exactly the way Rosso did. Patton sensed the moment it happened, the switch when Roman went from inhabiting his character to being him. The acting scout had put down his pen and was watching, rapt, and the set designer was quietly sobbing into his sleeve. There was silence in the auditorium. Roman had never liked this ending. With the kiss ruled out, the paths of the two lovers diverges, Ombretto seeking redemption in the outside world and Rosso remaining in the enchanted forest to oversee it after their defeat of the Evil Queen. They had just said goodbye and now Rosso was wandering the forest alone. The audience was waiting for something, they were on the edge of their seats, Roman could feel it…but this had to be the ending. He began his speech, his head hanging, and his hand clutching onto a branch. He talked about the love he had sacrificed and about how he was destined to live alone. There was a scuffle backstage but by this point everybody was completely focussed on him. He continued, wondering aloud whether it was worth falling in love at all if this heartbreak was all it led to. Then he finished, the music swelling as he began to leave-

Suddenly Ombretto ran onstage, hair dishevelled and eyes wide. Not Ombretto – Virgil. Roman took a step back, dumb with shock. Virgil was red under his face paint, but he looked determined and surer of his actions than Roman had ever seen him. He put a hand on Roman’s waist carefully and whispered, ‘Can I?’. Roman nodded. Virgil dipped him into a kiss. It was passionate, definitely sensuous, there were over 10 seconds of lip contact, and by god it did not need any confetti. The audience exploded into applause and cheers. Virgil felt dizzy with happiness, and his mind was full of purple and red roses and silly dancing and floppy hair and silver boots and Roman. He pulled Roman up slowly and neither had to act their love or their relief at having it requited. They clasped hands and walked offstage, while Elise was casting red and purple light over the stage and turning up the music. Backstage Virgil quickly pulled off the robe to give it to Kyle for the bows, grinning goofily. As Kyle pulled on the costume Roman decided to forgo any questioning and instead decided to manage his time more effectively by making out with Virgil behind a curtain.

There was a standing ovation. Patton was sniffling into his cat hoodie, smiling proudly. Virgil’s parents were stunned – the amount of times their son had talked about this boy had made the crush obvious, but the passionate kiss in front of most of the school was unexpected, to say the least. There were huge whoops from everyone, which intensified as the cast came on stage. Roman grinned uncontrollably as the audience went wild, and he held hand with Kyle as the group bowed over and over and over again. Virgil jogged onstage in full makeup and his black tech outfit with Talyn, and he got some wolf whistles and cheers. The set scout wiped his eyes a bit and turned to his colleague. ‘Well, Paul, I think both design kids should have no trouble getting in as long as their grades are- Paul?’

Paul was sobbing uncontrollably. ‘THEY LOVED EACH OTHER, ALI!’

Ali patted him on the shoulder, smiling indulgently. ‘It _was_ a romance.’

‘BUT HE CAME BACK! HE CAME-’ Paul broke off. ‘AND OMBRETTO GREW SO MUCH AS A PERSON AND ROSSO HELPED HIM AND BOTH ARE FLAWED BUT THEY MAKE EACH OTHER BETTER…I _can’t_ even.’

It was cooler between Virgil and Roman after the storm of the kiss – it smelled of rain on pavements and wide, starred sky. The two endured a round of heavily sarcastic applause and a chorus of ‘finally!’ from the rest of the group before they all kicked into action tidying up before a planned party at Roman’s. It was Virgil’s first high school party and there were going to be seven people, no alcohol and a playlist composed of 85% Disney and show tunes. Well, he did like Disney. He looked away from the props he was stacking to watch Roman helping Talyn with their boxes of makeup, shouting about how quickly they had applied it onto Virgil, his hair flopping into his face with his enthusiasm. Show tunes were starting to grow on Virgil too…

He smiled into a cauldron. The suave thud of an elbow colliding into the wall announced Roman’s presence. ‘What’s up there, My Chemical Romance?’

‘Nothing much, The Dramatics.’ Virgil smirked back. Roman shook his head in confusion. ‘The R&B group?’ Still no recognition. ‘My dad likes them.’

Roman trying to be laid-back was adorable. ‘I’d…like to discuss them with him some time.’

‘Didn’t know that you were a fan of R&B, Princey.’ From Roman’s expression, Virgil was equally cute when flustered (even if he was much more successful at keeping his cool).

‘I’m a fan of getting to know you, Lee my love.’ That was not fair. He used Roman’s surname. Roman was not allowed to use his. Roman continued, ignoring Virgil’s blush. ‘I want to know more about you listening to music with your dad, and what kind of art you want to make, and how much of Leia’s dialogue you know because you identify with everyone’s favourite sassy space princess.’ He smiled and looked up at Virgil in a way which should be illegal because of the way it made his breath catch. ‘In fact, I could be the Han to your Leia. I want that more than anything in the world.’

‘I know.’

Roman threw his hands up and yelled ‘Damn you!’

‘You walked right into it!’ Virgil stopped stacking his props and turned to face Roman fully. ‘Seriously, that sounds… really good. I want to get to know you too. See movies together, hang out, maybe go to a concert by a band with ‘pink’ or ‘funeral’ in the title. Preferably both. I don’t know if I want to take this slow, or really fast, but I’m happy to just roll with it. And this is kind of terrifying, but…good terrifying.’

‘Like the Dumbo ride at Disneyland!’

‘I think more Space Mountain: upside down and in the dark.’

Roman took a deep breath. If they were going to be…whatever they were going to be then he had to know. ‘Talking of such things, would you mind telling me about the lead up to what is possibly the most epic kiss in history?’

Virgil went to facepalm, then remembered his face-paint and stopped. ‘Well…I knew the kiss had to happen because of the way the play was going and the audience was reacting. And I asked Kyle if he would and he said no but I was really jealous of him for hypothetically…kissing you.’ He broke off to wail, ‘This is really embarrassing!’

Roman was smirking. ‘You were jealous of Kyle for hypothetically getting to kiss me, go on.’

‘Ugh. Well, then I…maybe, microscopically, slightly started to think about kissing you. And then I realise that there was enough time for me to change and come on stage. So, I asked Kyle and he said that I could, and he actually thought that it was a good idea. Talyn did the makeup and I got the cloak off Kyle. Then I freaked out and I didn’t think that I could do it because it was kissing you and it was going on stage, and it was kissing you _on_ stage…But I realised that I wanted to. Kiss you. I regretted not going for it that day in the auditorium, and not returning your kiss on the cheek thing. And this play was important to me and it needed the kiss. And I would regret not kissing you because I wanted to, you know, a lot. So, I did it. …Are you crying?’

‘No.’ sobbed Roman.

Virgil had lost literally all his ‘don’t be dramatic’ points so instead he went in for a hug. This was also maybe because he was ridiculously happy, but he had leftover nerves. And it was scary but nice opening up and he was fighting a voice in his head that said that this wasn’t real. So, he was kind of crying too.

*

Patton had easily gotten backstage and was now bouncing around from person to person, congratulating, asking thoughtful questions and making puns. He proudly noted how neatly Roman was putting away his armour and tried not to squeal as he saw the much discussed Virgil next to him.

 As Roman’s brother bounded over Virgil stood warily. ‘Am I going to get an intimidating older brother speech?’

‘Oh no, kiddo.’ Patton replied, ‘If you want to break up with him at any point it’s completely your decision, I was just going to remind you guys the importance of respect and communication in a relationship. Besides,’ he beamed, ‘it’s an understood thing that if you hurt him on purpose, I _will_ destroy you.’

Virgil searched for any indication that the statement was a joke and finding none looked at Roman for help. The boy gave Patton an annoyed look. ‘ _Patton._ ’ He turned back to Virgil, ‘He’s not joking. On the bright side, if I do the same to you then I’m in even greater danger.’

Patton’s reply was cut off by his phone barking. He pulled it out and frowned at the caller ID. ‘Sorry, kiddos, I have a call. I’d Om-better take this, Ro-so you guys can finish up tidying.’

The two groaned at the puns and returned to working side by side.

Patton went into a corridor. ‘Logan?’

There was a crackle on the line, the brush of skin against the microphone, and then through flesh the muffled sound of sobs.

Patton took a deep breath and began to walk towards a fire exit. ‘Alright, Logan, can you tell me why you called?’

Logan felt a great weight build up in his throat, and he curled up on himself.

Patton’s voice was tinny on the phone line, but he clung onto it like a lifeline. ‘Logan, buddy?’

‘I need help.’ Logan choked out. ‘I need your help. I’m – I’m rather upset, and I messed up and I just need help.’

Patton looked at the backstage door, then to the fire exit again. ‘I’m coming. Could you tell me where you are, kiddo?’

‘A few blocks away. Where the ice cream van parks in summer.’

Patton headed out into the warm night. ‘I’m coming. Hang on in there, alright! Just sit there, I’m coming.’

Logan felt like he was deep underwater. He was weightless and directionless and drowning. Tears and tears and tears and here he was like Alice, drowning in the ocean he carried in his sternum.

He knew the brand of sunglasses Remy, Virgil’s first crush, had worn. He knew his Starbucks order, his hair colour, the sassy remarks he made, how far away he sat from Virgil, every time the two had made eye contact. He knew the exact way Virgil felt when he saw him: butterflies in stomach, kind of sweaty, heart beating fast and mind racing at 100mph. He knew nothing about Roman. Nothing about why Virgil liked him so much he would appear in so vulnerable a position in front of the school. _It was a great moment for his LGBT+ acceptance campaign._ Shut up. He had lost Virgil completely. He wanted to get up and go home, to pretend that he hadn’t asked for help. He could deal with this alone. He shuddered as a sob convulsed his body. _Virgil left you, you’re all alone, you must fix your own mistakes-_ He gripped the kerb, feeling the concrete smooth against his fingers. No, being alone was not a sensible idea.

The sound of footsteps preceded a hand on his back and the sight of Patton crouching down by him.

Patton assessed the situation for a moment. ‘Can I give you a hug?’

Logan nodded too quickly, too desperately. He leaned his whole body into the hug, not removing his arms from around his knees. Patton wondered once again at his ability to collect waifs and strays as his polo shirt darkened and Logan gradually stopped shaking.

As soon as the boy could speak he began to pour himself out to Patton. ‘I – I messed up. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so-’ His voice rose with each apology.

Patton rubbed his back in circles. ‘We all make mistakes.’

‘I… but Roman…’ He tried to elucidate the matter with vague arm waving.

‘You can talk to me about it. Let it all out, bud.’

‘I…I shouldn’t have cut the funding. The play was good, I actually liked the writing, even if I didn’t understand the acting. But I was the one who threatened it. The question then remains as to what that makes me.’ Logan broke off to sob, then continued fervently ‘I did it for him, you know? For Virgil. I wanted to repay him, somehow, for being my friend. I wished to help him with his quest for the environment. I wanted him to be my vice president. I don’t know why I never encouraged him to be president. I don’t know why…

‘I can’t even be angry at him for Roman. I don’t know why he likes him. In fact, I don’t know anything about Roman at all. He beat me in the debate though. Fair and square. I let emotions override my logic. He was good in the play, too. I think so, from everyone’s reactions. He deserved a win. The hero of the story – in the eyes of the school. I mean, things are rarely black and white but I’m starting to see myself in increasingly darker shades of grey…’

Patton rubbed his back again. ‘I’m going to cut you off right there. I understand why you feel disappointed with yourself. Yes, maybe you did make a mistake. But this isn’t the end of the world! I know everything feels like an eleven out of ten right now, but it really isn’t. You’re eighteen. You cut a drama club. Big deal! Roman’s fine, Virgil’s fine, at the end of the day everything turned out alright! Use this experience to learn and to grow.’

‘You don’t understand! I abused a position of power, I became the man, Virgil said it himself!’

Patton kept his voice unflinchingly gentle. ‘Now look here, Logan Sanders. Don’t tell me what I do or do not understand. I had phone calls every week from Roman worried about the play, I know first-hand how difficult productions are and I heard _exactly_ what you said to him in that nasty poem of yours. I am trying to help you because you had the guts to admit you needed me to, so let me help you.

‘Let’s try something different. How about you try to give me a list of things you will do in the future to help sort out this messy situation? Could you do that, kiddo?’

Logan blinked for a moment. ‘I’m sorry. That does sound like a sensible suggestion. Alright…I won’t be in a sole position of power. I should stay in Student Council, though, because I need to finish my LGBT+ acceptance scheme. Maybe in college I’ll try for a leadership position again, but I need a break for now.’

He took a deep breath. ‘I need to apologise to Roman and his group. And…I need to speak to Virgil, much as I don’t want to. Perhaps we can be friends again. If not, I will endeavour to maintain cordial relations. I also need to work harder at building meaningful connections with the people I am leading. To do this, I will read any books you can recommend, and I will interact with a more diverse group of people.’ He began to speak more steadily as he finished, and he wiped the tears from his face. ‘In a similar vein, I should try to do fewer things by myself. An example of one thing I could do with others is co-ordinating my choice of different colleges with my parents.’

He looked at Patton for his reaction after the list – he was, of course, beaming.

‘Well done! I’ll email you a couple of book titles. On a related note, how about you go to the cast and crew party tonight?’

‘What?!’ Logan sputtered. ‘I can’t do that, I’m the last person any of them would want to see-’

‘You could apologise to Roman and his friends, talk to Virgil and work at building meaningful connections with them all, couldn’t you?’

Logan tried to outstare Patton but it wasn't much a competition as the latter had no need to blink even in his mortal form.

‘That…is a logical suggestion.’ Logan admitted to the road.

‘Alright then, kiddo.’ Patton jumped up. ‘I’ll walk you to the house, then I’ve got to part-y from you as I’m out to dinner with my parents. An empty house for the party! Boyo, Roman will drink so much…soda with all his friends!’

Logan stood up slowly. If he had to go to a party, then he guessed that there could be worse ones to ruin.

*

Roman was ecstatic. This was because he was dancing to ‘I’ll make a man out of you’ with all his friends. And Virgil. Who was no longer just his friend. And Virgil was dressed in a very baggy black T-shirt which looked very good on him. It was a pretty ordinary T-shirt. Roman considered that Virgil would look good in literally anything. Then again, the black did particularly suit him. He was about to snap his eyes off the T-shirt before anyone could notice him looking. Instead, he yelled over the music, ‘Virgil, you look really good in that T-shirt!’

Terrence laughed and Talyn groaned.

Virgil smoothly replied while dancing, ‘I-I, yeah, it does. You know it, Princey.’ Then he tripped over his own foot and stumbled into Dahlia.

The doorbell rang as the music switched over into ‘Don’t stop me now’ (because this was a party) and Roman shimmied into the hallway with a paper cup in hand. He swung the door open and the sweet sound of Freddie Mercury faded into the background.

It took a moment to compute what was in front of him. Could happiness fry the brain cells? Before Roman could process the situation, his brother came into the hallway, bundling Logan in front of him. He built a solid fortification of words about them as Roman began to crush the cup without realising. ‘Hey, kiddo! Just popping in, I’ve brought Logan, so make sure you fix him with a drink.’

Roman tried to keep his voice controlled. ‘Patton. I’m sorry, you can’t invite my arch nemesis to my party. It isn’t fair.’

His brother looked at him sympathetically. ‘I understand, but I need you two to talk to each other.’

Logan looked like he was physically stopping himself from running out of the door, and Roman hoped for a moment that he would so that he could go back to Virgil and the party. However, the boy stood there resolutely, staring at the pictures and playbills on the walls. Roman was foolish in many ways, he could admit that, but he didn’t try to withstand the force of his brother on a mission.

 He just turned and walked into the kitchen. ‘Fine.’

‘I’m just at Rico’s with Mom and Dad and the Lees, call if you need anything!’ Patton shouted at Roman’s back before slamming the door shut.

Logan hesitated for a moment, then gathered that he was expected to follow Roman into the kitchen. He tried to work out whether he was meant to take his shoes off, standing with his foot in his hand.

‘Who was it?’ called Dahlia from the living room.

Roman replied loudly. ‘No-one. Just Patton.’

At this Logan left his shoes on and hurried into kitchen, shutting the door behind him. His eyes flitted around the stacks of haphazardly cut sandwiches and bowls of pretzels and Oreos. Mint Oreos. While the room was relatively small, it was the ill will Roman was exuding which made it feel suffocating. The noise from the party was muffled through the door and it felt as if Roman’s silence had formed a force field around them.

Logan clenched his jaw slightly and shifted, waiting for some sign that he could speak. Roman yanked open the fridge. ‘Do you want a drink?’

‘Uh, water’s fine.’

Logan tried to psych himself up to speak over the splash of the tap and the banging music from the other room. It was one of Virgil’s songs he was pretty sure – most of them sounded the same to him.

As Roman pushed the water into Logan’s hand he noticed tear-tracks on the boy’s face.

Logan took a sip then set the glass down with a clink, keeping his eyes trained on the countertop. He took a steady breath, then made eye contact. ‘Roman,’ he said the name slowly, and it hung in the air like a white flag, ‘I have come to apologise.’

Roman crossed his arms and looked away. ‘I have a party going on, Sanders, so you’d better make this quick.’

‘Quite right. I’m sorry. I truly, truly am sorry.’ His voice cracked a bit. ‘I made a decision, last year. And I’m sorry for the decision I made. I don’t know what a better decision would have been – and that’s the problem. I should have asked for help: from Elise, from the rest of the Council, from Virgil, but especially from you. I should have put together a team to come up with a creative, workable solution. ‘Only those who are unable to come up with the method to do something call it impossible.’ was the way you said it, I think. I’m sorry that I was the main factor in cutting your funding.’

Roman didn’t quite know what to think. He trusted Patton’s judgement, but it was hard to overcome the events of the semester. Everything which his parents taught him told him to forgive Logan, and the success of the night made him feel magnanimous. If the guy had been Virgil’s best friend could he really be so bad?

Still, however much he tried to fix his tendency for black-and-white thinking it was clear who the villain of the scenario was. It wasn’t the funding which he was most upset about. It was the way Logan treated him, like he was brainless and worthless and deserving of ridicule. This new respect was nice, but it didn’t erase the past.  

Logan paused to gauge Roman’s reaction, but the tumult of emotion was indecipherable to him. He chose to continue with the points he had planned with Patton on the way there.

‘I wasn’t sure if it was the right decision. Despite this, I made myself believe that I had come up with the only possible solution to the problem. I doubted myself and hated myself because of those doubts and hated myself for doubting. I transferred that hatred onto you. I’m sorry for the way that I treated you. I was awful to you, and I don’t expect you to forgive and forget. However, I must ask for your forgiveness. I really am sorry, Roman Prince.’

Logan nudged at the glass, staring into his own reflection. ‘Also, Patton made me promise to tell you that I was the one who asked for his help.’

Roman might has well of left the room to deliberate his decision for how well Logan could guess at his internal dialogue.

It was pretty simple, however. The spiteful part of Roman wanted to throw a drink over Logan’s head and maybe scream, but the rest of him believed in second chances and redeemed villains and knew a lot about self-doubt.

‘I forgive you.’ Roman replied.

Logan jerked his head up. ‘What? Really?’

Roma nodded slowly. ‘I am glad you apologised…Logan. I think even if you were helped in no small part my brother it was a brave thing to do.’ He gasped. ‘Maybe you were aided by my play, all about redemption and change for the better?’

‘Not really-’ At Roman’s crestfallen expression Logan changed tack, ‘ _all_ about those themes, it also had very interestingly explored ideas of morality and love. Indeed the forest, like Arden in ‘As you like it’, possibly represents a place of shifting sexuality and gender identi-’

He was cut off by a shriek. ‘I LOVE ‘As you like it’! You too are a fan of the Bard?’

Logan grinned. ‘I have a great appreciation for poetry!’

Roman threw a hand to his forehead. ‘I thought no-one in this town outside my family UNDERSTOOD!’

‘I know, I try to explain to people-’

‘And then there’s Mrs Dawson’s teaching-’

‘Doesn’t go nearly deep enough-’

‘Shakespeare’s for the STAGE!’

‘Exactly, it’s a very narrow approach-’

‘Logan?’

The two swerved around to Virgil in the doorway. He stepped into the kitchen. ‘Someone had better explain what the _hell_ is going on here, or so help me god…’

Logan straightened his glasses. ‘I had just come to apologise to Roman, and we discovered a shared love of Shakespeare.’

‘Really, Logan?’ Virgil’s voice started to raise.

‘It may not seem like the time, but it was a good way to find common-’

‘I meant apologising to him before me!’

‘What?’ Logan frowned.

‘I’m your best friend, who you ignored for three months straight, and you sneak in and out of this house _while I’m in it_ to apologise to Roman but not me!’ Virgil was mildly terrifying in his anger and the remains of his makeup.

Logan drew himself up. ‘I was not sneaking in and out. I came to apologise to all of you. I saw him first, so apologised to him first. I was then going to apologise to you.’

At the continued disappearance of Virgil, who had gone to find out why Roman was shouting to himself in an empty kitchen (something which the others didn’t find too unusual), followed by some even louder shouting the rest of the theatre group crowded into the kitchen.

There was a moment of complete silence before they exploded into questions.

Logan coughed loudly, cutting through them. ‘I have come to apologise to all of you for being the driving force in cutting your funding. I commend you on the play. I am sure that it was very good. Virgil?’ Logan gestured to the hall and the two walked out as Roman began to dramatically recreate their conversation.

Virgil leaned on the wall, arms crossed tightly across his chest. Logan pulled himself up to his full height then opted to sit on the stairs. ‘Virgil, I-I…’ he scrubbed at his face and continued, ‘Virgil. Virgil, I’m sorry.’ His voice broke and he began to sob for what felt like the tenth time that night. Virgil slid onto the step beside him.

Logan cleared his throat. ‘I came with the intent to apologise and just leave you alone, but…I can’t do that. I want to be friends again Virgil. And I understand if you don’t want to be, but I would do almost anything if I could…try once again to be the best friend I should have been. You make me better. I never realised how much I needed you, and I understand if you do not want to recommence our friendship. But I would be so honoured if you would consider me a friend.’

Virgil put an arm round his friend. ‘Man, I might be sick after that. Since when do you regularly deliver heartfelt speeches?’

Logan scoffed wetly. ‘Since when are you a hugger?’

Virgil didn’t move his arm off. ‘Let’s just be…cool, alright. We can go back to normal.’

‘No, Virgil. We are many things, but cool and normal are not in that list. Let’s be aggressively uncool, and unapologetically weird.’

‘So, can I paint your nails black now?’

Logan groaned. ‘I did say I would do almost anything.’

The two sat together for a moment – comfortable silences had always been their forte.

Then Logan smirked. ‘Roman, huh?’

Virgil went extremely red. ‘Shut up!’

‘Seeing as you kissed and embraced him in front of the majority of the student body I can imagine that it is not much of a secret.’ Virgil face-palmed. ‘Still, as long as you are happy so am I. You should go and dance and converse with him – sorry to ‘crash’ the party.’

‘I can hear the quote marks.’

‘I certainly hope so – while that usage is in Merriam-Webster I am still not 100% happy with it.’

Virgil put his hand on his neck. ‘If I ask you to stay, will you?’

There was a pause as Logan deliberated. ‘Yes. I am sorry for refusing your previous friendly overtures.’

Virgil waved the apology away. ‘Well, I’ll go ask the others…’

Logan caught his shoulder as he got up and poured as much sincerity as he could into his voice. ‘Virgil, you deserve proper apologies. And I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, but I do want to show how much I regret my actions. Because you are my best friend, and I acted like a moron.’

Virgil scuffed his shoe. ‘Alright.’ He quirked an eyebrow. ‘You kinda did.’

As Virgil walked away Logan closed his eyes and let his shoulders completely relax. Exhaling, he smiled into the darkness. He pulled off his tie, then when Virgil came to get him and the music turned back on he tied it round his forehead.

The night was young, and everything was possible.

**Author's Note:**

> So - there we are.
> 
> This is my first, and so far only complete, fanfiction, and I hope it gave you some pleasure. You may need to sleep now. Maybe the descriptions sent you off anyway.
> 
> If you are awake, and you have finished it then I'd really appreciate a comment - the thought of real people reading this is bizarre, so come tell me your favourite song or where you're reading this or if you've done high school theatre or (if you really want to make my day/week) tell me what you thought.
> 
> It's not perfect, and even in the description I can't let myself take it all too seriously, but it's my baby none the less.
> 
> Love,  
> Ella


End file.
